


Becoming Joan

by mrsronweasley, theopteryx



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossdressing, Gender Issues, Homophobia, M/M, Melodrama, Not!Fic, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley/pseuds/mrsronweasley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theopteryx/pseuds/theopteryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only sound in the dressing room was Frank's breathing and the gentle <i>shhhk</i> as she pulled a lace tighter.</p>
<p>"There we go," she said, stepping back. "Yes?" she asked, when he was still silent.</p>
<p>"Yes," Frank said, still watching himself in the mirror. <i>Yes</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming Joan

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to our beta, brooklinegirl. Some of this is written out into actual fic, but a lot of this is still transcribed from emails and contains not!fic stylings, including emoticons and capslock and the like.

When Gerard was a sophomore in high school, he had a best friend. Most of the people he knew at school would have scoffed that his best friend was some 8th grader but Gerard loved Frank. Frank was awesome, and had kick-ass taste in music and comic books. He was also the prettiest boy Gerard had ever seen.

They weren't, like, boyfriends or anything, was the thing. They were just - Frank and Gerard. In the wintertime, when it got dark early, they'd hide out in tree houses in playgrounds and hold hands, telling each other about their days (they went to the same school, but two different wings - Frank in the junior high one, Gerard in the other) and the latest trade of _Batman_ , and every now and then, when it got too cold to sit separately, they'd huddle and trade tiny kisses in the dark. Gerard's heart would pound so hard every time, like it was the first, and he'd get mesmerized by the way Frank's eyelashes left feathery shadows on his red cheeks. Frank's hand would grasp and cling to his own through their mittens.

Afterwards, they would walk home, holding hands when the streets were empty, and watch their own shuffling feet while they smiled.

Mikey would give Gerard a pinched, slanted grin when he'd greet him in their room, and Gerard would kick him in the shin and tell him to shut the hell up, and then he'd sketch another page of the comic he and Frank had started writing a few months back. Frank had awesome ideas, and Gerard knew exactly how to put them down on paper. It was going to be epically awesome. It was going to be even better when Frank would become a 9th grader, and he and Gerard would have lunch at the same time. Gerard couldn't wait for Frank to get to his side of the school.

It was in March when Gerard came in one morning and heard the rumor. He could feel his heart stop, almost literally, in his chest, but he refused to believe it - people said the craziest shit, seriously, the school was teeming with horrible gossip about everybody in town. It wasn't _true_ , it _couldn't_ be. He still couldn't pay attention to any of his classes, though.

It wasn't until he walked outside after last period, his hands already sweating from not having seen Frank _all day_ , and saw his mom, pale and tiny, huddled against the side of her Trans Am, that he knew. His legs almost gave out from underneath him and he didn't even care that he had broken down in front of all the students filing out of the front doors. He could barely hear his mom through his sobbing.

Frank and his parents had been killed in a car accident late the night before, and there was not a single thing anybody in Gerard's life could do about it.

Over the following week, he watched as the Iero extended family slowly took possession of all of the belongings left in the house, box by box, and nobody noticed him sneaking upstairs like a shadow of the movers and grabbing the box of Frank's mix tapes. Frank would have wanted him to keep them safe. Gerard would keep them safe for him.

//

When Frank was in 8th grade, his father was waiting for his mother to get out of work, and accidentally witnessed a mob hit. Frank wasn't there. Frank was at home, listening to a CD Mikey had lent him at school, but Frank was there when his father returned home with cops, and when he agreed to testify, as well. Frank was there when his life was packed up into one suitcase and they were swept up into WitSec's custody - no goodbye, no nothing.

No matter how hard he screamed and kicked and lashed out, it didn't change the reality that they were leaving Jersey for good, under new names and new identities and Frank wasn't even going to be Frank anymore.

Worst of all, the cover story for them leaving was so horrible and STUPID, Frank's heart sank when he heard it. He wanted to text Gerard, to _tell_ him it wasn't true, _it wasn't true, dammit_ , but the marshals took away his phone and they were monitoring his computer like fucking hawks.

There was no way he could tell Gerard the truth, and he was never going to see him again. Frank's life sucked.

And he HATED New Mexico.

//

After Frank died, Gerard had a pretty hard time of it. He'd always been a sensitive kid and losing his best friend like that really kind of fucked him up. High school was so rough without a best friend and he missed him so much and he sort of ended up isolating himself a lot from the other students, which was okay because they sort of did the same to him (that mopey Way kid, Jesus, always looked like someone was about to kick him, what was his deal).

He had nightmares about the crash for MONTHS, and spent countless hours crying in bed until Mikey would sneak in in the dark and curl up behind him, just holding on, hoping he'd wouldn't feel so alone (Mikey missed Frank too, so much, but he mourned silently, so he could be there for Gerard).

But life went on and Gerard felt weird the first time he was attracted to a girl, and his first kiss with somebody else, even, maybe - how it was so different, and he still missed Frank ALL THE TIME, but it became this background THING as he grew up and older, how he knew that he was stupid for hanging on, and he did let GO, but never fully - just for others. It was something he didn't ever really talk about because he knew he was supposed to be over Frank by now, he KNEW, but it was a huge part of him growing up, you know? It took some serious time for him to get over some of those huge issues that were tied to that. Death tended to show up in his artwork a lot during high school, too, though, which of course branded him as even more weird by some of his other classmates.

But he opened up a little more as time went on, and he had a girl he dated by his senior year, and she was great and they had fun and he lost his virginity in his basement on top of his Star Wars sheets, and then when he went off to art school he dated this guy for a while but mostly they got high and gave each other messy blowjobs and brought each other coffee during finals. He liked his girlfriend and his art school boyfriend and he liked having a warm body or the occasional one-night stand, but it was never anything earth-shattering. Sometimes he wondered if he just lacked that something that other people seemed to have, that capacity to really open up for other people, let them in, and he wondered if that part of him left with Frank. Frank was his First Love and he died, and that's a level of pain that most people didn't have to really experience in a relationship, especially when they were so young and impressionable.

He never even told Mikey about the box of Frank's tapes, he just kept it under his bed, never looked at it, but when he went to college, he took it with him, and then into his first apartment, and so on. Taking the tapes with him, even if he didn't ever open or play them - it was like a reminder that Frank was real, that he was someone who mattered to Gerard, even if he was gone. SOMEONE needed to remember Frank, and Gerard felt bad that sometimes he didn't think of him all the time, and as more time went on it did actually get easier even if he still ached when remembered :( :( :( He didn't even have a picture of Frank, only a memory, since Frank was sick (of course) on yearbook picture day and the last picture of him in the yearbook was a little grey box that says _not pictured_.

He tended to find more solace in his artwork than anything those days. The death of Helena, too, had a huge impact, so a lot of his artwork WAS focused on death, even when he was mostly past the majority of the grieving periods for the both of them. He got really focused on images of people who died young, too, like Joan of Arc, and she became a huge, keystone piece of his paintings. She became almost like an artist's trademark after a while, and while he always just sort of assumed that he'd paint on his own time and end up in some dead-end awful cubicle, he started getting some notoriety for his work, and some press, and before he knew it he was in some group shows around town, and some solo shows, and people actually _bought his stuff_. It still wasn't enough for him to quit his shitty day job at the Barnes and Nobles, but it was SOMETHING, and it was POSITIVE, and Gerard felt something inside of him loosen. It was like....the paintings were him dealing with things, REMEMBERING things, and sending them all out into the world felt almost like people were sharing that with him, lessening the burden on himself. It was like nothing else.

//

IN THE MEANTIME, over in New Mexico, Frank grew up angry! He got a guitar at one point and played a LOT of Black Flag. Like. A LOT. And his parents' marriage didn't survive the huge change ;_______; They still lived in the same town, just not together. (He moved between his parents' places.) It was just HARD, and he couldn't let go of Jersey, he never felt at HOME in NM, you know?

Moving was hard enough anyway - having to move AND move in secret AND have his parents' divorce fucked him UP. He got into trouble at school all of the time and his mom cried a lot and he felt awful but if he didn't lash out he felt like he was going to break, splinter right down the middle. He totally had issues with authority figures, too, and people getting all up in his face about shit. >:(

ALSO HE MISSED SNOW GODDAMN IT CHRISTMAS SUCKED SO HARD. HE MISSED _WEATHER_.

Trying to figure out his sexuality was kind of a mess. Frank lashed out and was just so _angry_ and unhappy all of the time, being all of that and figuring out he was gay in some shitty little town in New Mexico was rough. He was maybe a little reckless with his body, because he knew he _wanted_ but didn't know what to DO with that, and it didn't go all that great the first time (he tried giving a BJ and it was horribly awkward and uncomfortable and the dude came WAY TOO SOON, FRANK WAS UNPREPARED and choked and then the guy was too spaced out to jerk him off or anything, but the next time was better). But he did shit like trying to give blowjobs until he almost gagged, and maybe made decisions that weren't really the WISEST? It was almost a rebellion against the rules he had to live behind - they couldn't stop him from sucking that guy's dick, from letting the guy he met at the movie theater take him home and fuck him, from going to parties and getting drunk and fucking the running back of the football team, shit like that.

His mom didn't know about it, and maybe he got away with a LOT of shit, and she thought maybe he was feeling better and that counseling helped (he definitely had a counselor, but he couldn't get past his anger, so it didn't really help, he never TALKED, and he was smarter than she was, anyway), but really, he was just busy sneaking out and getting high and fucking a LOT of boys. He fumbled and sex wasn't always fun, it turned out, but it was fun a LOT, was the thing, and he got skills at some point in there, too. >:) THERE'S A PERK TO EVERY PROBLEM, OKAY.

He got his first tattoo at seventeen, from some guy someone at school knew. It was shaky and kind of a mess and it hurt like a bitch, but Frank just stared straight down at his scuffed sneakers and breathed through it. It felt good, _so_ good, to have something that was all his, permanent, they'd-never-take-him-alive kind of permanent. A jack-o-lantern, for his birthday - Jack Antonio, his WitSec identity, was born in May, which was fucking ridiculous - and an anchor and NJ for his home. Search and Destroy for the assholes who made his family run, good and evil birds, split right down the middle, a Lady of Sorrows for his mom and all her crying, heart in her hands. He couldn't stop. His mom freaked, of course, and his dad just frowned, but Frank didn't care. Sometimes, on the really bad days, it seemed like the stitches of ink were the only thing keeping him together.

He was mostly over his anger by the end of his freshman year of college, more even-keeled. He met some cool people, and had a "best friend," for the value of "best" being somebody he could relate to (her name was Lena, and she had basically escaped to college to have all the lesbian sex she could) but. She never even knew his real name.

But still, with all that, and feeling kind of better, after ALL THOSE YEARS, New Mexico didn't feel like home, and the decision to quit the program was really hard, because he loved his parents, but he couldn't do it anymore, he HAD to go back. He’d dropped out of college, ‘cause it hadn’t been for him, but it wasn’t just that. NEW MEXICO wasn’t for him, and he knocked around it until finally, he knew he’d had enough.

He just wanted to go back to Jersey and SEE things, but the people his family were hiding from were still around, even if they're weren't necessarily in the same city. And yeah, he could admit it - he wanted to see Gerard. Gee had been pretty much his only friend (well, him and Mikey, but Gerard had been his BEST friend, and something else entirely) growing up. He was the last person to know him as Frank Iero, really. When he moved to New Mexico he didn't really have any friends, mostly ‘cause he was so angry and because there was always that overhanging fear that they'd have to pick up and move again at any given time. It was hard to get close to people when his whole life was a secret.

He wound up crying all over his mom's shoulder like a KID, trying to make her understand that he NEEDED to get back, and who'd recognize him ANYWAY?

The marshal assigned to their case was a nice enough guy that when Frank's parents went to him with their concerns about Frank, he managed to work out a deal where Frank was still in the program, still Jack Antonio, resident of New Mexico, but under Jersey supervision, and absolutely HAD to check in with his Jersey marshal every other day, by phone or in person, NO EMAILS. >:( This is serious. >:( And he was to be careful and mindful, and if had any suspicions at ALL, he was to dial his marshal's number before doing ANYTHING ELSE.

Frank nodded a lot, something uncoiling in his belly, releasing those butterflies he hadn't felt in far too long. He was going _home._

So Frank loaded up his shitty old car with the remains of his stuff and road-tripped it back up north. He felt himself feeling better the closer he got. He couldn't even describe it, it was just - familiar. Home. And when he hit the Turnpike, forget it. He almost ran someone off the lane, his eyes were leaking that much.

He didn't have a plan, either, and no real goal, just the desire to do SOMETHING different than what he was doing before.

He slept out of his car for a few days until he found a job. He had his official papers - Jack Antonio, resident of New Mexico - and managed to get a gig as a dishwasher in the back of some trashy, dingy diner, and he totally fucking loved it. He took a lot of smoke breaks with the other guys in the back and wore a bandanna across his head like Al Pacino in that _Frankie and Johnny_ movie and all of his shirts were stained with dishwater, his hands red and raw from scrubbing. But it was work, and he was working with PEOPLE again, and they were people who really didn't give a fuck who he was or wasn't. It was awesome.

His apartment was a total shithole - basically just a studio, with a beat-up old mattress shoved in the corner. He kept it pretty neat, though, and as clean as he could, and he didn't have money for cable or anything so he had just stacks and stacks and stacks of books lined up against the walls, taking up most of the free space. He spent most of his free time smoking and reading, and it was pretty great, all things considered. He picked up a bunch of hours at work, the pay sucked but he did okay and he was pretty sure he'd eventually be able to swing a gig there as at the front of house and the tips were better. He worked hard, sometimes grabbed a drink with the kitchen staff - they talked a lot about the girls they'd picked up over the weekend, Frank mostly just smiled and took another swig - or just sat on the back step and shared a smoke with them, then headed home and passed out, slept in, and spent the day walking around or curled up somewhere outside reading.

He had his laptop with him, and since he didn't have internet in his apartment, he spent most of his time at the coffee shops in his neighborhood using theirs and drinking coffee and reading wikipedia or downloading movies to watch later at his place. He didn't really have any close friends but he was used to that. He was used to being alone. And...he wasn't exactly happy, but it was something. It was his _own_ something, or at least something close to it.

Which all led up to him stumbling across Gerard's name - he'd thought about looking Gerard up, but wasn't really sure how - he'd googled him, kind of like a creeper, and found his facebook profile, but it was locked, and Frank didn't have a facebook, didn't have an ANYTHING, he wasn't allowed to under the WitSec program, so all he saw was the little picture of Gerard in the sidebar, hair in his face, and Frank's heart kind of clenched. But it didn't really go farther than that.

But he was on one of the local websites one day, looking up shit to do that weekend, to see what shows were going on in town (he liked going to local shows because the cover was cheap and he could throw himself around in the pit until he had the shit beaten out of him, and then go home and pass out on his mattress, blood drying on his knuckles), and on the main page there was a flyer for a big art show downtown that weekend. And Gerard's name was on there, almost at the top. Frank couldn't breathe. Gerard was - he was an _artist_. Gerard had _always_ wanted to be an artist.

Frank had to go. He _had_ to.

But he needed a disguise.

//

Frank sat in his car, heater blaring in his face, and flexed his grip around the steering wheel.

"You are a ridiculous person," he said to no one. "This is a ridiculous idea. This is the worst idea of all worst ideas."

He got out of the car and closed the door - he felt like he shut the door too loud, and now everyone was staring at him, because obviously he was drawing attention, of course everyone was staring at him. Or they weren't. He had problems projecting sometimes. He hunched over and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and hurried across the parking lot before he could change his mind and go home.

The old bells above the door chimed loudly when Frank walked in the door, and he instinctively shirked back from the noise. He wished he'd flipped his hood up before he came in to hide his face, but they'd probably watch him like a hawk, then. No need to be even more suspicious.

The thrift store was decently crowded for a Saturday morning, the crowd about split between older customers gently shuffling through the racks and kids trying to find ironic t-shirts or something for a party. It was a wide, long space with high ceilings and that thick, familiar smell of attic clothes. Frank paused just past the line for the registers. The women's clothes were on the left, and the men's on the right, and he stopped, easing his weight back and forth between the balls of his feet.

He ended up going through the men's section first, half-heartedly flipping through the racks, mostly keeping an eye out for anyone watching. He needed some decent shirts to wear to work, anyway, and some new jeans that weren't duct-taped together at the knees.

When he had a decent stack of clothing he casually made his way around to the back of the store, where the toy section and book shelves full of old shoes blended into the racks of women's clothes. He didn't know where to start. Dresses? Did he want to start at dresses? They were so...different, though, so definably not for him that he felt himself reeling a little. But - it would probably be easier to find a dress. That way, at least, he'd only have to find one piece that worked instead of searching through the racks for a bunch of separates.

The dress rack was pushed against the wall, split between normal dresses and old, yellowed wedding dresses, all in that 80's princess style. They looked like his mom's. He moved past them without looking and onto the other ones, staring at them a little awkwardly. The colors all seemed a little off, drooping, and he quietly started shifting the hangers on the rack to flip through them. He'd looked up some measurements online to see where he'd fit, maybe, in a women's department, but they all seemed weird and the numbers didn't make any sense.

He ended up pulling some dresses off the rack haphazardly, not even really looking, and piling them under the other clothes in his arms. Cardigans, too, he'd need something to cover up in the shitty Jersey weather. Hoodies? He paused at the hoodie rack, but moved past it. They looked too familiar. He needed to not be familiar.

He felt like his hands were shaking and he was glad they were hidden under the fabric where no one could see. His face was warm, too, like he had a fever. There was a bin of old underwear at the end of the rack which, ew, no - but there were bras, and Frank clutched a little tighter at the bundle in his arms. It was only for a night. It didn't matter. But it might.

He hesitated and cast a quick eye around the store before darting a hand out and grabbing a few, stuffing them into the bottom of the pile in his arms. He got out of the section quickly, high-tailing to the other end of the store where the dressing rooms were.

The dressing room attendant didn't even look up, just waved him on through to one of the rooms. The light was dingy, dim, and there was a huge crack in the full-length mirror, but Frank was so relieved to be in there, the closed door between him and anyone else who might be watching, that it was insane. He sat down on the bench against the wall and just took a moment to breathe, calm his hands. The pile of clothing was sprawled on the seat beside him, the dark, neutral tones of the men's jeans and work shirts cutting across the faded, colorful patterns from the dresses he'd pulled.

He tried on the jeans and the shirts first - they fit, of course, even though the pants sagged in the ass, like always. He stripped off the shirt and pants and tossed them to the floor, and stood in front of the mirror in just his briefs. This was never going to work. He was too shapeless, too boxy, too _boy_. But he grabbed one of the dresses anyway and yanked it roughly over his head, pulling it down and over his hips.

It was a faded yellow dress with big pockets on the side and polka dots all over. It was way too short and pulled too tight across his stomach, with straps that fell awkwardly off his shoulders, but before he yanked it back off he stopped, hands flexing by his sides, and made himself look. The dress was cut awkwardly, obviously meant to be worn with some kind of undershirt underneath it, and the neckline cut all the way down to practically show off his nipples. His chest was red, flushed. He felt completely exposed, even in the locked room.

He yanked it off quickly and tossed it in the corner, and grabbed the next one - a black one, with a higher neck, and more of a fitted bottom - it didn't fit either, but in different ways, made for someone with curves to fill out the fabric, full breasts to fill out the top.

He yanked that one off too, almost manically, and pulled another one on, practically ripping the zipper as he fumbled to zip it up under his armpit. It was a dark blue one with a delicate, old-fashioned pattern, and a wide, square neck, and a white band right under where his boobs would go. The bottom was more flared, and it felt better, being able to actually move.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Maybe. He unzipped the dress enough so that the top pooled around his waist, showing off the birds on his hips, and stared at the stack of bras half-falling off the bench and onto the floor. If he was going to do this, he had to do this. Just for one night.

The second bra was a black, cotton one, with no lace and no frills. The elastic band cut into his sides a little and he shifted, uncomfortable, as he fiddled with the straps to make them tighter. When he was done he dropped his hands and looked. He looked ridiculous, with the fabric of the bra gaping away from his flat chest. He rolled his shoulders a little, held his head to the side, and pulled his shoulders back.

When he zipped the dress back up it was already better. Yes. It looked better, having something there, even if it wasn't real. He reached a hand through the armpit of the dress and cupped a hand underneath the bra, filling it out, imagining how it would look with something there. Almost.

He grabbed a cardigan off the bench and pulled it on, covering his shoulders, and stared at his reflection again. It was him, but in a dress. And a cardigan. He ran his hands over his waist, feeling the thick, worn fabric. He felt light, though, like he wasn't even in the room, really, just watching himself from somewhere else. He'd have to stand differently. He couldn't slouch. The girl who had this dress before loved it, wouldn't have slouched in this dress.

He went up on his toes, picturing heels with the dress. Something black, maybe. He'd have to shave his legs, too, and maybe his arms, and definitely his pits and face. His hair was almost long enough. He shoved it into his face and pulled some of it to the side, making most of it cover his forehead. He'd have to pin it, or cut it. He had scissors at the apartment.

He dropped back to his feet suddenly, letting out a slow breath. Okay.

//

" _Fuck_ ," Frank said, swiping again at his red, smeared mouth. The mirror in his apartment bathroom was tiny and the lighting was shitty and he was all off-balance from the way he had to lean against the sink to see closer, practically up on his toes, dick against the cold of the porcelain through his briefs. He'd messed up _again_.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Frank said, staring down at the tiny tube in anger. His fingers were red from rubbing away his mistakes. He'd nicked the makeup from the corner store on the other side of town but hadn't really looked at it, fear keeping his head down, but now he just felt completely lost. He'd already stabbed himself with the mascara brush more times than he could count. How did anyone do this and not go blind?

It didn't help his nerves that his bathroom was completely in shambles, a surreal interlude in his usual organized calm. There were two bras hanging on the towel rack (the black one, and a simple white one that had fit too well to pass up) and the blue dress was crumpled on the closed toilet seat behind him.

The sink was full of the remains of his hair, both from where he'd awkwardly shaved his legs, pits, and face, and from where he'd hacked at his hair enough to at least pretend that it was supposed to look choppy and in his eyes. Shaving had been sort of traumatic enough that he wasn't thinking about it, wasn't dwelling on it - his legs were cold, and it was almost like they were shaped different, and he hadn't been able to stop touching them with his cold hands, couldn't stop staring at the way the skin prickled and goosebumped even without any hair - and he'd cut himself all around the ankles and knees because of the way his hands were shaking. There were makeup tubes next to his curled-up toothpaste and aftershave and a new box of tissues he'd picked up for the express purpose of giving himself tits.

He couldn't even look in the mirror anymore. He could feel himself freaking out, backing down, and that wasn't an option, not when he was already here. He pulled on the bra, fumbling as he clumsily latched it behind him, and slid into the dress, fidgeting it into place. He stuffed enough tissues in the bra to at least look like there was _something_ there - he didn't mind having little tits, and any bigger and it's be obvious they weren't real - and yanked on the cardigan, fumbling awkwardly with the sleeves.

He turned to go out into the main room, but when he caught his face in the mirror he froze, hand on the light switch. He looked - just - _something_. Softer, even though he didn't feel softer. His eyes looked bigger and his mouth, still red from rubbing off the lipstick, was a little raw. He paused and held a breath, closing his eyes for just a second. When he opened them again he exhaled and left the bathroom, flipping the light off behind him. He had some simple black canvas slide-ons that would have to pass for women's shoes, because there was no way he'd be able to manage heels tonight. He was unsteady enough.

His keys, phone, and tightly-wound wad of cash fit into one of the deep cardigan pockets but he felt awkward without a purse. Should he have gotten a purse? He tried to stand in the living room without shoving his hands in his pockets, without rolling his feet or standing with his hips out like he normally did. It was weird. It was something.

//

So Frank went to this art show and he barely even made it there because he was so nervous he was going to get yelled at or noticed or something he kept almost turning back. He kept his head down and parked as close as he could so he didn't have to walk too far. He could tell where the art show was, though, by all of the people spilling out into the street from the venue, the inside all lit up with those white gallery lights.

He totally smoked the whole way there and had to stop on the corner to smoke another one down to the filter before throwing the butt to the ground and making his way on in. The tentative plan was just to see Gerard in the flesh, see that he was alive and well, and then get the hell out of Dodge and go home and wash his face and forget that he was such a crazy person to ever think this was a good idea.

But of course it didn't happen like that - he didn't see Gerard at all ( _what if he wasn't there, what if this was one of those things where the artists didn't actually show, maybe he'd missed him, maybe it was for nothing_ ) so he started looking around the gallery. He stopped by the bar to get a beer just so he'd have something to do with his hands, so he'd stop fidgeting with his goddamned dress, and then when he started moving around he got TOTALLY caught up in looking at all of the art - everyone else's stuff was really amazing, but then he found Gerard's and it was just - stunning. He didn't even have to look at the name placard to know that they were his.

They were dark but not depressing, powerful and rich, with colors so strong the canvases almost looked like they were vibrating. There were armies of women in old armor swarming like ants, and underwater scenes with someone twisted in the dark, but Frank ended up stopping dead in front of one in particular, a huge, swelling painting of Joan of Arc on her horse, skewed and golden and beautiful. Frank couldn't make himself walk away from her.

//

Meanwhile, though, across the gallery, Gerard was playing art show host, and nervously flitting around talking to people. He always got SO nervous and SO excited about these sorts of things - he'd always been a sort of intensely private person, right, but doing shows like that was like ripping off a band-aid sometimes, and even if he didn't sell anything he always felt better afterwards.

He was talking to his buddy Charlie over by the bar about Charlie's new punk band he was starting up, and he wanted Gerard to do some merch designs, when he saw this GIRL walk in, and he totally forgot what it was he was going to say. Because - god _damn_.

She was really small - short, and not even wearing heels like a lot of the short girls Gerard had met before. She had dark hair that swung in her face and that she kept sweeping away from her eyes in a self-conscious kind of way. She didn't look really comfortable, maybe, and kept fidgeting, her hands playing with her dress, or tapping the beer bottle in her grasp. Gerard wasn't sure what it was about her that struck him, but he couldn't stop looking. Colorful tattoos spilled out from under her sleeves.

He kept an eye on her while he was talking to Charlie, just sort of continually glanced her way without being too rude and cutting off the conversation, even when he kept losing sight of her in the throngs of people between them.

She was standing a little awkwardly by the wall of his paintings, quietly peeling the label off her beer, but didn't seem to be standing by anyone else, or really with anyone else. Just there to see the art, maybe. Or meeting someone, maybe. Maybe. But she was - just - she was in this old (vintage?) dress, and slouching a little, and her face was mostly hidden behind her dark hair, but Gerard saw her eyes and they were _beautiful_.

//

So Frank was standing there staring at one of the paintings, letting it just sort of sink into his bones, when he heard someone next to him say, "You enjoying the show?" and he turned and it was Gerard. _Fuck_.

He fumbled his beer and almost dropped it and was sure he looked like an idiot and managed just a " _Fuck_ " while he straightened himself out (he'd had too many beers, he knew he shouldn't have pre-gamed at the apartment, should have eaten at the diner before he got off work) and Gerard just stood there looking patient, like he was just waiting for Frank to talk.

Frank didn't know what to do, he wanted to run, he wanted to FLEE, but Gerard was there, Gerard was right THERE, and he was LOOKING at him, and Frank felt completely and utterly trapped in the moment, and like everything he was thinking and feeling was showing up, bright as day on his face. Like Gerard would be able to tell all of it just by seeing him. But Gerard didn't remark on the fact that Frank was a dude in a dress, didn't seem to even _notice_ , and was still just standing there, waiting for him to answer. Frank wanted to touch him, wanted to pull him so close, put his hands in his hair, fucking see if he _smelled_ the same, and Gerard was there, Gerard was _alive_ , and the realization of that made his gut swell with panic and joy and too many things that he had to fight so hard to keep off his face.

And he was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous, and that alone was almost enough to stop the words in Frank's throat.

"Uh, yes. Y-Yes." Frank said, stumbling a little, trying to pitch his voice a little higher, desperately wondering if that would make it more obvious.

Gerard just beamed at him, this blinding smile that Frank had somehow forgotten the full force of. He almost whimpered at it now. "How did you hear about the show? Are you a friend of Steven's?"

Frank considered lying for a minute, but realized that he could barely pull it off as it is. "I - I just saw a flyer for it," he said, instead. "It looked, uh. Interesting." He barely managed not to wince at how inane he sounded, but somehow, Gerard's smile got even bigger at his answer.

"So, what do you think so far?"

Frank managed to tear his gaze away from Gerard's face, the beer in his stomach making him feel kind of queasy, and swept his gaze up over the canvas of Gerard's painting. "It's - really awesome," he answered, because it really, really was. 

"Thank you!" Gerard answered, looking actually kind of dorky and the sudden memory of fifteen year old Gerard almost undid Frank right there on the spot. He was alive. He was okay, he was _better_ than okay, and he was real. Gerard, his Gerard. He knew he was probably staring but he couldn't stop. Gerard had new lines around his face, had slimmed down, gotten taller. His eyes were the same.

Frank knew he should leave, should run the fuck away, what was he even _doing_ , but he was rooted to the spot, and then Gerard was talking again. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't even ask - what's your name?"

"Uh," Frank said, and BLANKED. OUT. How could he not have even come up with an alias for this, how could he have been so _dumb_? He searched around wildly and spit out the first thing that came to mind, which was, "Joan. My name is Joan?" He kind of wanted to hit himself over the head with the beer in his hands as soon as he said it.

"Joan? That's funny - like Joan of Arc and, like, Joan Jett, huh?" Gerard beamed and extended his hand. Frank shook it automatically, only noticing then just how boy-like his hands were, Jesus, this was SUCH A BAD IDEA.

He laughed awkwardly, and said, "Yeah, exactly. Coincidence, huh?" And watched Gerard's face for any sign of recognition, or at least realization that Frank wasn't who he was claiming to be, but Gerard was just watching him with a smile on his face, like Frank was the only person in the place. It made him feel even smaller, somehow, like the walls had constricted.

//

_Joan_.

It was hard not to stare at her - there was something about the way she held herself, almost curled a little inwards, that made Gerard want to know more about her. She'd liked his paintings, though, truly meant it when she said she did, and he couldn't help the little swell of pride that came with the approval.

But of course it was at that moment that Mikey came over to pull him away to meet a friend of his from the label, and Gerard had to go - he'd promised Mikey earlier he would, and it was important to Mikey. But seriously, _worst timing_.

When he turned back from Mikey he could see that Joan was trying to move away, quietly make her way either back to the bar or to the exit. He reached a hand out - not to touch, just to stop her, and she paused, staring at him.

"Will you stick around?" he asked, convinced he was making an idiot out of himself. She just nodded, though, looking a little dazed, and Gerard let Mikey drag him towards the back. When he looked again she was gone, and something in the pit of his stomach flopped.

//

When Gerard finally finished his rounds of talking and chatting to everyone it was late, way later than he'd thought. He looked around the venue but Joan was gone, nowhere to be seen. He tried not to be too disappointed, but - still. He sighed a little and shoved his hands in his pockets. Mikey'd cleared out earlier to catch some show downtown, and the rest of the staff was good to handle things.

When he stepped into the cool Jersey air he almost stopped up short, because - she'd _stayed_. Joan was standing against the side of the building, leaning back against the brick and apparently smoking her way through a pack of cigarettes. Gerard's fingers itched for one.

"You're still here," Gerard said, probably a little too loud.

Joan looked up suddenly, fumbling a little with the cigarette in her hands. "Yeah, well. You know. Nothing else to do."

Gerard wanted to be offended, but he could see the little smile at the corner of her mouth (stained red, like she'd had lipstick on before and wiped it off - someone had wiped it off, maybe). She was joking with him. He bit back a grin.

//

Frank was totally on edge the whole time - he'd stepped outside to smoke one cigarette but had ended up smoking his way through the rest of his pack from nerves. He felt light-headed, starving, and exhausted, bone-weary from the thrum of adrenaline he'd been running on the whole night and too much tobacco in his blood.

He was pulled out of his mulling by a startled, "You're still here," and of course it was Gerard, and Frank tried not to let his hands shake as he lit up another cigarette and took a drag.

Frank mumbled something back to him, something to deflect. He didn't really have anything to say to that. He was surprised he was still there too.

Gerard started trying to draw him into conversation, and even though inwardly Frank knew he should stay quiet, shouldn't keep this up, he couldn't help but answer, even though he made it a point to deflect any questions back to Gerard. How many of these shows had he done? Did he make a living off this? He was there to see that Gerard was okay, whole, and there he was - and he had a _life_. A life that went on after Frank had left, after he'd _died_. His own life. Frank craved it.

By the time they came to an actual lull in the conversation Frank was out of cigarettes and Gerard's cheeks were pink from the cold Jersey air. Frank was cold too, freezing, but if Gerard offered his jacket to him like a gentleman or some shit he'd probably die, so he hid it the best he could, just held his cardigan closed across his chest.

A car honked off in the distance, and Gerard glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh shit, it's my ride, look - uhm, could I have your number? Maybe get coffee sometime?" He looked so _hopeful._

Frank nodded. What? No, why - but Gerard was grinning and stepping forward, and he gave him a sharpie - a _sharpie_ , the fuck, old school, not a phone or anything - and Frank nervously scrawled his cell number down the warm skin of Gerard's arm. Gerard glanced at it, still grinning wide, and walked backwards down the street, hands shoved in his pockets, until he had to turn to get into the car and disappear down the street.

Frank stayed leaning back against the rough building until the lights from the gallery shut off behind him, the very last of the employees going their own ways into the night. He was out of cigarettes and out of excuses. _Fuck_. What was he going to do?

//

Frank spent the next couple of days in almost a state of shock. He'd pulled it off. He was going to do it _again_. He scrubbed hard at the dishes at the diner, threw himself into his work, smoked too many cigarettes, stayed up too late, and stared at the blue dress that was still hanging from the back of his bathroom door.

Frank couldn't believe he gave Gerard his phone number. Seriously what was _wrong_ with him. But once Gerard had asked, so nicely, so _hopefully_ , he'd never considered doing anything but. It was just - he'd found Gerard again. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't let him go so quickly. Not yet.

He made up some excuse to push the date back - _going out of town_ , he'd said, when Gerard texted him the first time - but really he just needed a breather. He needed to step back, calm down, and figure out what in the hell he was actually going to do. Because he was. He was going to do this.

He went back to the thrift store and found a better, prettier dress (dark red, this time, with a square neck). He re-dyed his hair a dark, deep black, splattering dye all over his bathroom sink, and re-cut his hair so that the shaggy bits of it fell to hide the cut of his jaw. He spent an entire morning hunched over his laptop watching makeup tutorials on YouTube in-between downing coffees at the Starbucks, and spent every night bent over the metal sinks of the diner scrubbing his hands raw. Work was good, though, work kept him distracted from the looming date. _Date_. Jesus.

He practiced walking in heels - they were from the thrift store too, but had fit his feet well enough, even if they were totally fucking uncomfortable. He wore them back and forth in his apartment, walking the length of his room and back again, and practiced standing in front of the mirror without fidgeting.

He'd bought new underwear, too - his weren't cutting it, riding up weird when he tried on the dresses. Mostly, though, he just - he _knew_ they were just his regular briefs, the same ones he wore every day, to the diner, to bed. It didn't feel right. Actually buying the new ones, though, had been one of the most traumatic moments of his life, ignoring the first time he had to buy lube and condoms from the corner store back in New Mexico and the checkout guy had stared at him, or that time his mom'd caught him making out with some dude in the back of her car, hands down his pants - he'd gone to one of the big stores on the other side of town and bought just enough things to cover the pack of girl's underwear he'd shoved in the bottom of the cart. He'd considered stealing them, just for a sec, but getting caught stealing girl's underwear would have been way worse than anything, so he just snuck it through the self-checkout line and hoped to god it didn't glitch or call a manager over.

They were just little cotton things, nothing fancy, but it still took him about half an hour of pacing through his apartment before he could work up the balls to rip open the plastic and try them on. As soon as he did he could feel his whole body flush - they felt like nothing, like his dick was about to fall out, and when he looked down the line of dark hair from his belly button to under the waistband looked _obscene_ , especially with the bulge of his dick against the cotton. He was already getting hard.

He ruined the first pair he tried on - he'd ended up on his mattress, jacking himself off, and got too carried away when he came and stretched the waistband all out, besides the fact that they were soaked, but the second pair was good. When he tried on the new dress later he couldn't really see the difference, but Frank knew. He felt it.

And then it was time. He exhaled, smoothed out his dress, and headed out the door. Frank didn't want Gerard seeing his shithole of an apartment, so he'd asked him to meet him at the arcade a few blocks over, and when he came around the corner Gerard was there, leaning across the outside wall and obviously trying not to look like he was looking around for someone. Frank wanted to pause, but his heels on the concrete were too loud, and when Gerard turned and saw him his face lit up. Frank tried to smile, but he'd sort of forgotten how to control his body, which was really what had gotten him there in the first place.

The date turned into one of those dates that just...didn't quite end. They went out for food at some little place Gerard knew, and it wasn't fancy, but it was _nice_ , nicer than Frank's restaurant or where he usually went and bought food those days, and Frank had to try and sit properly and not put his elbows on the table and everything. There was an awkward moment at the end when Frank pulled out his wallet to try and pay for his half, not even thinking, and realized it was his stupid beat-up old wallet he’d had since high school. He glanced at Gerard, but Gerard hadn’t even seemed to notice, just waving it away with a 'my treat' and a smile. After that they went to see a movie - Gerard let Frank pick when they got there, and there was some new monster movie out, and it was awesome (even though Frank barely paid attention, since he'd spent the entire time trying not to sprawl his legs out or sit too weird, and Gerard's arm was so close on the armrest Frank didn't know what to do) and after that they just kind of stood on the curb smoking, talking about the movie, and Gerard was like, oh hey, my friend is actually putting on a show tonight, if you're interested?

And Frank knew he should say no, should call it a night, go home and just - _stop_ , but Gerard was just looking at him, waiting, and Frank nodded and took another drag on his cigarette. They ended up at some shitty little dive bar seeing some band, and the band was pretty terrible but the show was great, loud and sweaty, and after that they ended up wandering the streets until they wound up in a corner diner, talking over coffee, splitting a plate of pancakes, because they were both _starving_ (the restaurant before was nice, but the portions were too small, and Frank was pretty sure Gerard just picked it because he wanted to pick something nice, but this was way more Frank's style).

Gerard asked questions about him - about Joan - that Frank made up answers to or dodged as best he could. He felt awful about dodging questions, but Gerard seemed to catch on soon enough that there were things he just didn't want to talk about. But the other stuff they talked about - movies, and comic books, and bands and things, Frank didn't have to lie, and Gerard's face lit up whenever another one of their interests fell in common.

Once, Gerard casually dropped a line about his college boyfriend, and Frank’s gut just _churned._ He’d been wondering if what they’d had as kids had been a phase for Gerard, who knew, right, since he’d picked Frank up as Joan. But Gerard hadn’t even made a big deal out of it, like, anything was cool. Frank had to take a moment to compose himself from all of the ~feelings.

The next time he looked up it was five in the morning and he and Gerard were sitting in the parking lot of the diner trading cigarettes and they were _still talking_ and laughing and the night had moved on from the pitch black to the beginning of the lightness of dawn again, and when Gerard finally brought Frank home (by way of a coffee shop, of course), it was almost completely light again.

//

"You are so wrong," Frank said, laughing despite himself. " _It_ was the _worst_."

"If by worst you mean _the absolute worst_ , and not in an actual scary way like I believe you might be implying," Gerard said, affronted. "Because seriously. A spider. The ultimate fear was a _spider_. He should have just left it with Tim Curry in clown make-up, because I'm pretty sure I saw that one in my nightmares for years."

"Some people think spiders are _the ultimate fear_ , okay, and I just don't think you should judge so easily," Frank said. "Besides -"

"Are spiders _your_ ultimate fear?" Gerard asked. He seemed genuinely interested.

Frank shuddered and looked away. "They just have so many _eyes_." He paused - they'd arrived at the steps to his apartment. He hadn't even noticed. The sun was creeping over the crest of the laundromat across the street. Frank suddenly felt hugely, overwhelmingly nervous, and fumbled a little with the still-warm coffee in his hands.

"Well, look, I, uh - " he managed, taking a step up the first stair, and then freezing again. How did he end this? Shit. "This is my stop, so. I - I had a really good time."

"Me too." Gerard looked at him, eyes bright.

There was a long pause, a weighted pause, and before Frank could turn to slip through the door Gerard moved forward, and Frank knew the kiss was coming before he could even really think, and in a fit of reflex he turned his head to the side so Gerard's lips landed high on his cheek. Frank's hand with the coffee cup was pressed awkwardly between them, and it was all that he could do to mumble a goodbye and duck his head and get through the door before he died of mortification.

//

Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_. When he got back up to his apartment he totally half-ripped off the dress and bra and took a washcloth to his mouth, rubbing the lipstick off until his lips were swollen, raw. He threw the rest of the coffee away, probably tossing the cup harder than it actually deserved, and when he kicked off his heels he almost moaned and how good his feet felt on the cold, flat floor. Seriously, what the fuck was that, _what the fuck was that_ , he'd made a total ass of himself, but he couldn't, he couldn't let Gerard kiss him, not like that. He'd wanted him too, though. More than anything.

He'd kissed his cheek. Did he have stubble? Frank frantically rubbed his palm against his face but he'd shaved late, before the date, so it was fine, but god. How did he end up in the kind of situation where that was actually an issue?

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. Fuck. _Fuck_. He crawled onto his mattress that night and let the exhaustion creep into his bones, but he still couldn't sleep. When he finally passed out, hours later, it was to a fitful, gross sleep, and when he woke up there were dark circles under his eyes, but the kind of dark that smeared away when he wiped at them with his thumbs. What was he _doing_.

//

After that, Frank really thought that was it – Gerard probably thought he was some kind of freak, and Frank had fucked up. Maybe it was for the best. Because Frank was clearly a crazy person, and he wasn't even _Frank._ He was Jack. He wasn't _Joan_ or whatever, because – he just wasn't.

What he also wasn't, though, was prepared to get a call the very next afternoon from a number he didn't recognize. He picked it up without thinking, and felt all the blood drain from his face when he heard Gerard's voice on the other end of the line.

"Joan? Did I wake you up?"

"Uh –"

Frank hadn't even THOUGHT to modulate his voice or anything when he answered, which was SO DUMB. Blind with panic he almost ducked into the dark bathroom before he realized Gerard couldn't SEE him over the phone. Thank God. He dropped down onto his bed, instead.

"Uh – yeah! Sort of. I was napping," Frank lied, staring at his own reflection in the tiny mirror on the wall. He looked like shit. He looked very much like _himself._

"Oh, I'm sorry," Gerard went on like nothing was wrong. It sounded almost warm, like he was smiling. "I guess I just wanted to – I don't know. Hear your voice? That sounds stupid, I'm sorry – I. Didn't. I don't actually have a reason for calling, I guess."

Frank stared ahead as he took that in. Gerard had wanted to hear his voice. No, _Joan's_ voice. Whatever. He smiled despite himself. "That's all right. You – you don't need a reason to call," he said, then smacked himself on the forehead. "I mean… I –"

"I had a lot of fun with you," Gerard interrupted, quickly, like he'd planned it. "I was just – would you want to see me again? Provided I let you sleep this time, of course. I mean. I-"

Frank giggled without thinking, then quickly stopped and slapped a hand over his eyes when he answered. "Yes. Yes, I would." What, what, WHAT. NO. NO! Oh God. "I just – I'm pretty busy for the next couple of days?" Busy planning to SHOOT HIMSELF IN THE FACE, SERIOUSLY. "But maybe… does… Friday night sound good?"

"Yes," Gerard answered with no pause. "Pick you up at 7? There's a Thai place I hear is pretty nice. And an art gallery I've been meaning to visit?"

"Okay –"

"It's a date, then."

"Yes. I mean. Right."

Frank clamped his mouth shut and breathed into the silence. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh GOD.

"Awesome! Great. I'll. I'll see you Friday, Joan," Gerard said in an adorably excited voice and Frank really, REALLY wanted to fall through the floor and die. What was he DOING?

"Okay, Gerard! Uhm. Bye!"

He heard Gerard saying "bye" back just as he pressed the ‘off' button. His own awkward, overly chipper ‘bye' rang out in his ears, reminding him of just how HORRIBLY AWKWARD he really was, apparently. Jesus Christ.

Then he fell back onto the bed and buried his face into the pillow. He had a _date_ lined up. A DATE. With GERARD. Who thought he was a GIRL.

Frank was so, so fucked.

Oh God. He needed more clothes. He needed so _many_ more clothes. And possibly new lipstick.

//

True to his word, Gerard appeared at his door at seven that Friday night. Frank had nearly thrown up from nerves. He had gone through about four outfits before settling on one he felt both girly enough in and fairly comfortable. It was a simple black dress with a frilly thing at the collar. The sleeves came down to his elbows, and he thought they hid his wide shoulders pretty well. His make-up came out better than last time, and he even kept the dark lipstick. His hair curled up in a really pretty way. He'd conditioned the shit out of it. He thought he almost passed.

He was just sliding his new red patent-leather shoes on when the doorbell rang. It was really more surprising that the bell worked than Gerard being on time, but Frank still almost fell out of one shoe. He managed to straighten himself out and wipe his palms on his skirt before picking up his handbag (his HANDBAG) and answering the door.

Gerard stood in the dingy hallway in a Nightmare on Elm Street t-shirt with a blazer over it, black jeans, a sheepish smile, and a bouquet of flowers.

"Hi." Frank blinked, then cleared his throat. "Flowers?"

Gerard's face fell a bit, but he extended them at Frank, anyway. They were red Gerbera daisies. They almost matched his lipstick, Frank realized, as he gently took them.

"Thank you! They're – they're gorgeous," he said, and Gerard beamed back at him.

"I'm glad you like them. They match your, uh, shoe." He pointed down and Frank followed his gaze until he saw that he was, in fact, only wearing one shoe.

"Oh! Right, uhm." Then he realized that he didn't even have a vase. Or an apartment a girl could reasonably live in. Then he panicked. "Can you, uh, wait out here a sec? I – didn't get a chance to clean at all, so – wait, okay?" Then he shut the door in Gerard's face.

He ran through all three of his cupboards for anything even resembling a vase, then saw a bunch of empties in the corner. Without thinking twice about, he ran water over four of them, then stuck a flower in each. Then he threw on his other shoe and gave himself one last look-over in the mirror. His hair was falling in his face a bit, but that was probably okay. He blew it out, then winced when it didn't fall right, then shut off the light before he could turn even crazier.

Right, okay. Date. With Gerard. Okay.

He threw open the door.

//

The thing was, dating Gerard was kind of the best thing to ever happen to Frank. Even if it had to be as Joan. Gerard was still the sweetest guy Frank had ever known. It was as if all those years of growing up and becoming a _person_ hadn't erased his core. There were moments when Frank was so wildly jealous of that, he could barely breathe. But they passed fast.

He had to be super controlled with himself, too. He started spending an inordinate amount of time when he WASN'T with Gerard observing women and girls, any female that passed his sight. In the diner, he'd watch the waitresses – the way they stood, how they leaned, how they spoke. In stores, he watch from the corner of his eye at the giggling girls, try to imitate their stances later, their intonations. Never enough to tip anybody off, to be noticed. Just enough to learn a little. Practice.

At night, he'd sit on his bed and read magazines to himself, out loud, to get the hang of the voice thing. He started being conscious of the way he used words, maybe. He thought maybe not using words like "dude" or "man" would help. They still slipped out when he got excited about something, but Gerard wouldn't really notice, which was good. Frank thought he was getting better, but it was still hard.

Gerard didn't try to kiss him on the second date like he had on the first. Instead, he'd taken Joan's hand and kissed that, instead. Frank felt the color rise in his cheeks, and he so desperately wanted to grab and kiss him, really KISS him, but he couldn't. He just – he couldn't. ;_____;

It happened again after Gerard took him to see a band that Mikey (MIKEY! Frank was seeing MIKEY again. He got so much taller than Frank had expected, and was a skinny motherfucker, but was still so essentially Mikey, it made Frank's chest ache.) had signed for his label. (When Gerard introduced them, Frank thought that maybe that was it; maybe Mikey would know. He didn't, of course. Frank must have changed a lot more than he remembered.)

That night, after he walked Frank home, Gerard took his hand and kissed it, squeezing the fingers a bit. On impulse, Frank leaned in and captured Gerard in a hug. He let him go immediately, and then ran into his building with barely a "bye" thrown over his shoulder, but he could still feel Gerard's heat through their clothes. He'd been so fucking warm. ;_____;

//

Gerard, for his part, really, REALLY liked Joan. She was so STRIKING. And STRANGE. She was different, somehow. Contained within herself, even when she laughed. She was almost a throwback, somehow, not really modern. She never wore jeans, or pants, even – Gerard had only ever seen her in dresses and skirts. Not even fitted ones, just ones that hung over her frame and drove him CRAZY, wondering what was beneath them.

Ever since he tried kissing her and she pulled away, Gerard made it a point of not pushing. He almost fucked up with that kiss, feeling like an IDIOT afterwards, so he kept the boundaries. Despite the fact that more than anything he wanted to take her face in his hands and kiss the shit out of her, especially after she went on about her favorite horror films and how it was really the old school 70's Italian films that were true classics, or how she once stopped in front of a painting and stared at it for a full five minutes before noticing she'd done it. Instead, Gerard just took her hand and squeezed it. It was a painting his friend Adam had done of his wife, and it was Gerard's favorite.

He would open cab doors for Joan because he wanted to, and he would hold open restaurant doors for her because he wanted to. He would call her and leave her stupid voice mails while she was at work and ramble on about his day, because he had no structure to it, choosing instead to mark the passage of time by his work.

Whenever Joan laughed, her hair would inevitably fall over her eye, obscuring her face in shadow, and Gerard's fingers would twitch with how much he wanted to sweep it back for her.

So, one time, he decided he just wanted to DO something for her, for this strange girl who didn't fit into Jersey at all, and so he made her some barrettes with little cameo stones in them. They seemed to fit with her aesthetic, and he hadn't made jewelry in a while. He gave them to her and she just kind of stared at them, and Gerard just reached out – "here, let me –" and put them in her hair, and just smiled :) "Now I can see your pretty face." :)

And Joan looked up at him, her face completely clear and so _beautiful_ , eyes huge, and leaned in – Gerard's heart beat about a thousand times faster than a second before, because he knew. He knew, he knew, he _knew_ \- and kissed him.

First-time kisses were always awkward, Gerard knew, but something about this one was stomach-numbingly like coming home. Joan's lips were soft and tasted just a little plastic from the lip gloss, but as soon as her lips parted and Gerard deepened the kiss, the taste bloomed out into something real, heady. Joan's quick moan trembled between them and Gerard's hand in her hair tightened with no conscious effort when their tongues touched. He felt frozen in time.

When she pulled away, there was a line between her eyebrows – not upset, Gerard didn't think, more like she was trying to figure something out, watching him back. Before she could see all of Gerard's thoughts reflected on his face, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer in. His fingers hovered cautiously over the barrette he'd slipped into her hair and he didn't think he even breathed, except to kiss her. He couldn't - he couldn't stop kissing her.

//

Frank couldn't get enough of Gerard after their first kiss. He was kind of done waiting and being coy and shit. There were really desperate make-outs up against the wall in all kinds of alleys, and Frank's apartment building, just, like - lipstick smearing, hair-mussing, clingy make-outs, where neither one of them could let go and Frank had to squirm away with his hips, because – BONER, oh God, he would get hard like a KID from it – and Gerard gave Joan space, he really did, but she tasted so good, and it all felt SO GOOD, WHY wouldn't she let him near her :D: ;___________*

Every night like that would end in both of them frustrated and with boners, jerking off in their respective beds, picturing the other on their knees in front of them. It was a hard time for all. :(

But Gerard respected her boundaries, when she'd move his hand away, or shy away from his touch, because, you know, that was okay. He liked her. He liked her _a lot_ , and if she wanted to go slow then they'd go slow, even if Gerard wanted more than that. How could he not, she was _beautiful_.

//

Frank had quickly realized that he'd have to work this carefully in order to actually make it work, somewhat logistically. Like when he asked if Gerard would always call before he came over, but the real reason was because: boy needed to SHAVE, okay? and there had to be time between the shaving and when his skin wasn't razor-irritated anymore and when the five o'clock shadow would start up. He found it monumentally unfair that - oh irony! - Gerard was the less hairy of the two. Srsly. Frank's life, SO HARD.

He also had to get fake tits. Or, well. The silicone inserts, the kind they _actually sold at Walgreens_ , that he could stuff into his bra and make it seem like he had actual breasts and not two uneven wads of tissues.

The first time he looked at himself in the mirror like that, he just couldn't stop STARING. They looked _real_. And they _felt_ real, or as real as Frank could imagine, that part of growing up having by-passed his gay ass, but seeing as how recently Gerard had been most certainly gunning for Joan's rack, this was definitely necessary. Not that Frank had any intention of letting Gerard under his bra. ;____;

He purposefully chose clothes and outfits that WEREN'T really reminiscent of his other clothes, his Frank clothes. They were more overtly feminine, maybe, and he didn't wear hoodies and stuff. He did it first out of necessity, to just be something that wasn't something he would normally wear, but - he liked picking things out. He liked the way things were cut. He liked looking at necklines and sleeves and hems. And for once it was good that he had such tiny, stupid feet, because he could go into stores and find shoes right there.

He'd been awkward about it at first, shirking around, trying shoes on only when there wasn't anyone else in the aisle, but eventually he learned that most of the employees didn't care, and if they did, a simple shrug and ‘frat costume' worked well enough to get an indulgent smile from the employees. Shoes were easy to order online, too, once he'd figured out the size - addicting, too.

After a few weeks of it his closet was almost completely overtaken by clothes - Joan's clothes. His work clothes, his ratty t-shirts and stained jeans stayed in piles shoved to the walls of his room, at the foot of his mattress, but the tiny closet off his bathroom was soon full of dresses and crinolines (that had become a necessary component of hiding his boner from Gerard during their make-outs) and cardigans and sweaters and blouses, all carefully hung up over the pile of shoes - mostly flats, but some pairs of mary jane heels, and one pair of red pumps he hadn't figured out to walk in yet, and shut away, just in case.

And of course he had to come up with this whole backstory and characterization of Joan (born in the next town over, family moved to New Mexico, studied psychology until he dropped out because he realized he hated college - the details were easier to remember when he didn't have to make them all up, although Joan didn't work in a diner, Joan worked a boring office job two towns over that she commuted to because of the cheap rent, and when Gerard pressed he just shrugged and said it wasn't what he was really about, and turned the conversation back to music), but while he-as-Joan was still funny and liked the same things, same books and movies and music, there were some differences. Mostly about personal boundaries. Which were getting harder and harder to keep up, the longer they dated, the more Frank wanted, the more the wrapped himself up in it, in _all_ of it, in having Gerard back in his life again.

What was weird, was having to check in with his WitSec officer every other day, no matter what. He'd get a call from Marshal Dewees at random times, like sometimes he'd be at the diner and have to run in for a bathroom break, and sometimes he was just waking up in his bed, groggy but fine and alive, but there were OTHER times, harder times, when he would be out with Gerard and have to excuse himself to take a call, something he could tell Gerard was curious about, but never pressured Joan to tell him. Those were the worst times, or second to worst.

The worst were when Dewees would call him up while Frank was trying to squeeze himself into a pair of panties.

"You cool, Jack?" Dewees would ask, chewing on something on the other end of the line. "Nothing weird or out of the ordinary following you?"

"Nope," Frank would answer, his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder, watching himself in the mirror, eyes already made-up, looking like a lunatic with a shaved chest and his junk half hanging out of a pair of cotton bikini-cut panties. "Nothing weird at all. Totally cool."

It was times like that, that he had to take a deep breath afterwards and try to assess just what the fuck was happening to his life. It was fine, though. It was totally fine. If Dewees knew about this, he'd probably be extra proud of Frank for how careful he was being with his new disguise.

Right.

//

Frank usually made it a point to avoid the mall at all costs. There were too many people, too many faces he might recognize, might recognize _him_ , and, honestly, it was hard not to feel a little shitty with all the reminders of things that he couldn't afford. But he'd picked up a double shift at the diner that Sunday and only had his lunch break to run errands, and the mall was so close it was stupid not to go.

That's what he kept telling himself, anyway - as soon as he was in the throng of bored teenagers and post-Church families he could feel his skin prickle. He shoved his hands harder into his hoodie pockets and kept his head down.

On his way back to the mall entrance, bag with his new Converse thumping against his thigh, he stopped short. He'd parked near one of the less busy entrances to the mall, and the offshoot of the main shopping terminal was almost quiet, almost completely deserted. Away from the press of people it was easier to actually look around. There was a small ladies' store nestled between one of the gag gift stores and a Hallmark place, and the mannequins in the window were dressed in lingerie and slips and garters. Frank shifted his weight from foot to foot, considering.

He'd tried ordering some things off the internet but when they'd arrived they were wrong, all wrong, not what he wanted. And there was only so much browsing he could do on the public kiosks in the library, and on his laptop at the Starbucks with people always standing over his shoulder. But the shitty things he'd picked up from the thrift store were already tearing, and they left red, irritated lines across his chest.

He darted one more look to the side before walking in, idly looking around - he could be looking for anyone, for a girlfriend, wife, whatever. He had a right to be there. The store wasn't like the other one at the main terminal of the mall, where shopgirls in headsets directed people around, constantly peering at them and asking if they needed help. Here there was one girl, sitting at the register at the back, looking bored and flipping through a magazine. She raised her head when he entered and smiled, only a brief "let me know if you need any help," and then went back to reading.

Frank walked around the displays, trying to hold his body in as close as possible so he didn't knock anything over. Everything looked cheaper, here, or at least different from the other store in the dimmer lighting. There were stacks of underwear on circular tables, laid out by color, but Frank passed them by, trying not to linger. He quietly ran his fingers over the edge of a stack of garter belts, tugging gently at the elastic, but didn't pick any of them up. They had some padded bras hung up around the side wall, and those Frank had to pick up and hold them in his hands - he needed something else, and with padding like this he wouldn't have to worry about his tits crinkling with tissue.

"Are you finding everything okay?" someone asked, and Frank jumped about a foot in the air, nearly dropping the bra.

"Jesus Christ," he said, spinning around. The shop girl just stood there, smiling gently, hands clasped loose behind her back. He hadn't even heard her get up. She was in a black and white checkered dress, like something out of a pin-up painting, and had blonde hair rolled up on top of her head. There were tattoos of birds all along her collar bone, circling over her shoulder, and a skull and banner on her arm.

Frank stared back up at her face. "Uhm. Yes. I'm fine. Thanks." He stared back down at the bra in his hands, hoping he didn't flush.

"You looking for someone in particular?" she asked, still smiling, and for a second Frank felt reckless, out of his own body, his self-preservation cracking from his control. He was so tired of giving a fuck.

"Just me," he said, sighing, not looking up.

"You need me to measure you? You might be wearing the wrong size." The shop girl asked, not skipping a beat, and Frank raised his head at that. She wasn't joking.

"Sure?" Frank said, obviously unsure. The girl - _Laura_ , according to her nametag - just nodded and gestured him towards the back, towards the dressing room.

"Come on, this way. We'll do you right," she said, still smiling. Frank thought about fleeing, but the tiny, little pinprick of hope in his gut felt so good that he couldn't. Not yet.

//

"I don't know," Frank said, mumbling to himself. "I don't know I don't know I don't know."

"Do you need help? Laura called from the other side of the slatted door. She'd stepped away to start piling up the things he'd picked on the check-out counter, but he could trace her movements by the easy click of her heels on the tile. Frank flexed his bare toes against the cold floor of the dressing room and exhaled.

"I - I think - " Frank started, and then stopped. The bra was fine - black, and a little lacy but not frilly, and with enough padding to make sure he'd fill out the tops of his dresses. But it wasn't enough, it wouldn't be enough anymore. He put his hands on his hips and, after a beat, inhaled and pressed in, just enough to see, for a second, with the right curves -

"I think I need something else," he said, and hastily unlatched the bra, tossing it onto the stool in the corner. Just saying it out loud felt like such a secret, a confession, but Laura didn't even seem to notice.

He cracked open the door enough to peer out at her. "Can you - ah. Can you help me?" He managed, and she nodded.

"What do you need?"

//

"No. That's - it's too bridal," he said, arms crossed awkwardly across his chest. His jeans were slung down low on his hips, briefs still on, shirt off, but he felt completely exposed. He had goosebumps all down his arms but couldn't tell if it was from the cold room or just the fact that there was someone else there, watching him, watching him do this.

Laura tossed the white corset onto the stool in the corner and held up another one from the stack in her arms. It was smaller, black, but still wrong -

"Too Rocky Horror," Frank said, shaking his head.

She tossed that one onto the pile, too, and then held up another - longer, with no cups at the top, cut where the underwire would be. Black, with laces faling loose down the back. Frank just stared. He could feel his chest flushing.

"Turn around," Laura said, and Frank followed without even thinking about it. He was facing the mirror that way, and he almost wanted to look away, turn back, but he forced himself to stare. Laura's hands were warm in the cold of the dressing room, but it didn't stop Frank from inhaling sharply when she touched his skin.

The fabric was cold, too, soft, but the boning rigid enough to make him have to roll his shoulders back, stand up straight. He wanted to put his hands on the mirror, brace his unsteady legs, but he kept them by his sides as he focused on breathing.

"Now, the thing with this kind," Laura said, as she started to lace him up - _lace him up_ , Jesus - "is that it's a little harder to do by yourself, but it looks _great_ , really holds the shape, and the boning doesn't dig too much."

Frank just nodded. He couldn't stop watching the way it slowly curved him out - not thin, never thin, but just gave him a shape, lines that weren't there before. He had to rest one hand on his stomach against the fabric as it grew tighter, feel the way his lungs pressed against the boning. Laura worked quickly, the only sound in the dressing room Frank's breathing and the gentle _shhhk_ as she pulled a lace tighter.

"There we go," she said, stepping back. "Yes?" she asked, when he was still silent.

"Yes," Frank said, still watching himself in the mirror. _Yes_.

//

He left the mall with several more bags than he'd originally planned and Laura's card tucked neatly in his wallet. She'd doodled a little diagram on the back on how she did her eye make-up, after Frank had worked up the balls to ask - how _did_ people use liquid eyeliner like that, seriously. The white and pink bags fit neatly in the one from the shoe store, and he tossed all of them in the trunk of his car and headed back to work.

He didn't even care that the rest of his shift at the diner that day was terrible, totally fucking disgusting. He was up to his arms in soggy food and dirty dish water all night, the heat from the kitchen pouring sweat down his back and everybody yelling at everybody because one of the stoves had gone out.

He finally managed to escape to the back alley for a smoke break hours later, his fingers itching for it. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, enjoying the tiny bit of quiet, and when he pulled up the hem of his dirty t-shirt there were still red lines from the boning imprinted onto the soft skin of his belly and sides, cutting through the swallows on his hips. He ran his knuckles over them, absently, then tugged his shirt back down and ground his cigarette under his boot. Shift would be over soon, then he could go home, and scrub the diner off his skin, put on something new.

//

The next time they went out, Frank had worn a retro-looking polka-dotted dress with a fitted waist he'd found in a slightly higher-end store. It slipped over his corset like a glove, shaping him in a way nothing else he'd tried before had. He looked - he looked _pretty_. He looked like a girl who would get noticed walking down the street, with a waist and hips and perky breasts. He watched himself in the mirror for a really long time, trying to find something else to fiddle with, but the truth was, he'd never felt more natural, or more excited to show himself off to Gerard. He smiled his red-lipped smile and forced his stomach to settle. Soon, soon.

It paid off, too. Gerard couldn't stop looking at him, while they were walking to the theater, or the entire time they stood in line for the concessions. Gerard's hand hovered over Frank's waist, finally landing gently on the small of his back as they made their way to their seats. The movie turned out to be dull, but maybe that had just been the first half hour, because after that, they never even looked at the screen, Gerard pinning Frank back in his seat, tugging him closer through the divider, kissing him hard and hot. Frank hadn't made out like this in a theater since he was seventeen. They only stopped grinning long enough to give each other hickeys.

//

As time went on, more often than not Frank found himself lounging around the house in his Joan underwear – the little cotton briefs that came in a pack of four, all patterned differently, with polka dots and stripes and shit, and it was kind of a nice sneaky feeling, like a little thrill. He wasn't Joan. He WASN'T. But he liked being her; he liked her things. He liked her nail polish, liked putting it on in her robe over her panties. He got really pretty good at that, too – he used to have to rub off the first layer with polish remover, and it didn't look as good after that, but if he was patient enough, it came out really pretty, actually.

He liked her make-up, too, like that it was sort of like painting, except he was the canvas. He liked the barrettes he'd started wearing after Gerard had given him the ones he'd made. (Those he wore on special occasions, and only SOMETIMES around the house.) He'd wash dishes in a bra and panties without even realizing it.

He would sit on his bed, watching some shitty movie he'd downloaded while he was at the Starbucks, and try out new nail colors on his toes, and run his hands over his smooth legs while it all dried. He was getting pretty good at it, too, could get the back of his knees now without having to twist his body all around in the shower.

At first, he pretended like it was just part of faking Joan; then he realized that maybe. Just MAYBE. He liked it. He googled gender theory and read up on sexuality and cross-dressing more, but the biggest sign that he was maybe really into this stuff was not feeling in any way ashamed about it.

That hit him suddenly one night, as he was watching himself in the mirror after trying on a new dress he'd bought. It clung to his corseted waist, sweeping out into a full skirt, and he twirled in his heels, watching how nice his legs looked. Then his gaze fell on the mirror, and he realized he'd forgotten to draw the shades.

Oh, well. If anyone had seen him transform from Frank to Joan, he didn't give a shit. He loved his new dress.

//

Sometimes, though, it really made Frank sad that anytime Gerard looked him in the eye, he saw Joan, and not Frank. It worked for his whole thing, but his heart kind of clenched anytime he thought Gerard might recognize him and he didn't. But he was so young when he left, looked so different, even besides the mascara and eyeshadow, so he couldn't exactly blame him.

//

Then one night, they were in a diner, having late-night coffee, where Gerard was kind of withdrawn and quiet, and then he opened up about it being the anniversary of his grandmother's death. Frank remembered her, and it cut him through a little bit, her death. Her death, his own, and how little he really knew about this Gerard, the Gerard in front of him. Gerard told Frank that he really wasn't past it yet, maybe never really would be past it, and how he was scared of losing people he was close to. "Not really, you know, to old age, but… Maybe to that, too, even. I don't know," he'd sighed, and Frank just extended his hand and squeezed Gerard's fingers, all, "I'm sorry."

They sat there and looked down at their linked hands, sipping refill after refill of diner coffee. Frank wondered where, in the memory of fifteen-year old Gerard, he lurked.

//

Later, as Gerard was tipping Joan's face up for a kiss, and a curl of her hair fell over her eye, the way Frank's used to when he badly needed a haircut, and a quick shadow passed over Gerard's face, like he'd seen a ghost - just a quick twitch of his eyebrow, but it freaked Frank out so much for, like, a moment.

And then Gerard pushed the hair away and kissed her and Frank thought, crazily, that this was it, Gerard would KNOW, but of course he didn't. How could he? Frankie was long dead. ;_______; Gerard probably didn't even remember him, really.

//

And then they were out one night, and it was POURING outside and they ended up running through the rain, and in an alley and Gerard laughed, and he was so happy, and Frank couldn't NOT, he wanted SO MUCH, and he wound up going to his knees in the alley and blowing Gerard right there, hands cold from the rain and fumbling, but his mouth so hot and Gerard's cock tasted _so fucking good_ , God, FINALLY.

Gerard gasped in surprise, uttering an "Are you - is this -" before she sucked in his cock, then gripped her shoulders and moaned Joan's name when he came. Frank didn't know whether to cry or moan. And of course Gerard wanted to reciprocate but Frank couldn't let him, because he wasn't Joan, and he had a boner, even though he'd made sure to keep his dick in check when he went out as Joan, and he ended up squirming out of Gerard's grasp. He let Gerard kiss the shit out of him, though, dirty and sloppy and fucking _hot_ , and then take him home with him. They spent the night together for the first time that night, in Gerard's bedroom, but nothing happened once they get in bed. Gerard spooned him until they both fell asleep.

//

And in the morning Gerard woke up alone. He walked into his kitchen and Joan was there, looking rumpled, with smeared eye makeup, but still so stupidly beautiful, and she was in one of his oversized shirts that was slipping off her shoulder enough that he could see the strap of her bra, and his heart just HURT with how much he loved her, and it was all tied up in confusion but she was frying eggs on the stove and he just passed behind her and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, silently, and started up the pot of coffee. She flashed him a smile over her shoulder as he pressed the "brew" button.

//

They went on like this for a while, dating kind of casually and kind of insanely NOT AT ALL at times, and even though Frank had set certain boundaries as Joan, every now and then he could feel Gerard breaking them down bit by bit – not in a threatening way, just making Frank's defenses fall one by one by being charming and considerate and _Gerard_.

So, one time, Gerard showed up at Frank's house with only a half-hour's worth of notice (throwing Frank into a whirlwind of panicked cleaning/shaving absolutely everything he could/shoving his dirty laundry - including his grease-stained diner uniform) into the tiny closet in the corner, GAAAAH, this is why he needed at least an HOUR'S NOTICE, JESUS) with a six-pack of coke, flowers, and _Wolfman_ to watch on Frank's laptop.

After he calmed the fuck down, though, Frank threw open the door and greeted Gerard with a smile. And it was really fucking nice, just snuggling up together on Frank's cheap-ass mattress, propped up by pillows, fingers interlaced in a way that made Frank's heart beat a little faster, remembering how this had felt at thirteen, how it still felt at twenty-three.

Things got super hot and heavy about an hour into the movie. Not like they hadn't ever seen it, anyway, and it was warm and dark and. Gerard just turned his head a bit and Frank caught his lips with his own, and before Frank could blink, they had rolled over and started making out, just breathless, crazy kisses, hands pawing and grabbing at each other's collars and hips and backs.

(They had to stop for a second before they kicked his laptop off the foot of the bed, but then Gerard was pulling him back in, all grinny and happy and irresistible and Frank went right back into his arms, just fucking falling into it.)

So, they were making out and Frank was just thinking about ripping Gerard's pants open and going down on him when Gerard surprised him by rolling over and grinding against him, HARD, and Frank hissed and ground up before he could even THINK about it, and then it HIT him, what he'd DONE, and everything STOPPED, like they'd hit the breaks and were slamming into the dash, face-first.

Gerard pulled back and looked at Frank with his (shiny and pink and ugh ugh ugh gorgeous) mouth kind of half-open and eyes glazed over and Frank just couldn't even BREATHE or MOVE and then Gerard's hand landed oh so gently over Frank's hard-on and shook Frank right out of it. He slapped Gerard's hand away, cupping his crotch protectively and squirmed away, folding in on himself, his face in FLAMES from humiliation and nobody had still said a WORD and this was it, this was IT, and he -

"Joan?" Gerard breathed and Frank could feel him getting closer and reacted instinctively, wedging himself further into the corner, hiding his face behind his hair, just - just - "It's - it's okay," he heard Gerard whisper from where he was hovering near. "Are you - I mean -"

Frank breathed for what he felt like was the first time, because maybe Gerard hadn't realized he was - but why would he, he never -

"I'm - I'm so sorry," Frank whispered, just in case this was going to be the last time he got a chance to say it, but Gerard wasn't moving away still, so maybe he just figured Joan had a dick, but not the whole truth, maybe he just -

"Is that -"

YEP. Frank just nodded miserably and chanced a glance at Gerard through his his hair. Gerard's eyebrows were drawn in concern, and his shirt was still unbuttoned from their make-out session, and he made a move as if to touch Frank's knee, but thought better of it and pulled back. Frank swept the hair off of his face and chanced a move forward, unfolding himself until he was sitting with his feet tucked up underneath him, dress pulled taut over his knees. His heart beat so hard, and he felt like ten kinds of shit, but he COULDN'T tell Gerard the whole truth, he just - he COULDN'T. He waited for Gerard to say something, or - or ask him a million questions that he should have been but absolutely was _not_ prepared to answer.

"Joan," Gerard breathed and finally did shuffle forward, and extending his hand for Frank to take, "It's okay, I - I love you, it doesn't matter, it - I _love you_ ," he repeated and Frank's gut LURCHED.

//

She suddenly made so much more SENSE to Gerard. The sometimes slightly masculine bend to her walk or speech, too, and he was just, like, she is the prettiest, most INTERESTING... Like. He wasn't looking to fall in love, at all, but. But now he HAD. HE FELL IN LOVE WITH JOAN, AND HE LOVED _ALL_ OF HER. ;_____________ <3

And she STILL wouldn't let Gerard under her skirt, but she told him she loved him back, like it had been ripped out of her, and kissed him again and then it turned back into making out, and then she pressed her cock up against Gerard's leg, hiding her face in his neck, and squirmed and thrust until she came, shuddering against him, her hands clutching his sides. Gerard just lay there, all *_________* at how fucking HOT she was, and the NOISES she'd made when she came, and Jesus, Jesus, he REALLY, REALLY WANTED TO SUCK HER COCK. *____________;

//

And of course after Gerard found out about his dick he was just the best boyfriend ever about it, and still called Joan _her_ and _she_ without reservation, of course, never looked at her differently, and told her she was beautiful and it just broke Frank's heart about it, but he was tempted to, like...he was tempted to just never tell Gerard the truth. Not even half the truth. Not even that he was – he WAS, wasn't he? – a cross-dresser. Maybe he could pretend to be Joan FOREVER. Maybe Frank really could die back there, and Joan could live on, and they could be together...but he knew it wouldn't last forever. He knew that. But he kept pushing the thought into the back of his mind, later, later, LATER.

And he kind of hated Joan, a little bit, just because of the complications, and the weird jealousy thing he had going on but it was himself he was jealous of, hello, but it was also hugely freeing because he didn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him as Frank. Gerard couldn't even tell it was him, and he could go into stores and buy things and not have to be terrified that someone was going to call his name and he'd be found out.

And, omg, Frank's inner turmoil and jealousy and AUGH AUGH AUGH. He sometimes felt totally crazy, because he loved Gerard SO MUCH still, and Gerard had grown into this incredible PERSON. He was a freelance budding artist and still so sweet and talented and he looked so beautiful and smiled at Joan so SWEETLY and and and. Frank only had so much in him to stay away. He just. He COULDN'T. ;_________;

//

Finally, though, everything just built to such a fucking point that Frank couldn't do it anymore. He felt like he was splitting apart, right down the seams. He didn't know who he was anymore. He didn't know what to do - it was all a lose-lose, and it was all his own fault.

Gerard had noticed it too, but didn't say anything, just looked at him sometimes with a worried little crease between his eyes, and Frank didn't know how to make that go away, didn't know how to make it better when it was him, all of him, _Joan_ who had put it there in the first place.

Frank was never comfortable, never relaxed, could never stop thinking about the way things seemed to balance on some tiny pin prick, just waiting to crash back down. One night when he was at the diner working he looked up through the porthole from the kitchen to the dining room and the dish in his hands fell and shattered on the slick tile.

Gerard and Mikey were at a booth right by the front door, laughing and eating, and Frank just stared at the easy way they joked and Gerard moved his hands, explaining something as Mikey grinned. They were in his diner. They were in his diner. Not his - Jack's diner.

"Jack, man, what the fuck," Todd yelled, and Frank immediately fumbled for the broom to sweep up the broken dish, palms already sweating furiously. If he'd gone out to bus tables like he did when it got really busy, they would have seen him, and everything would have been ruined. Just like that. They were in his diner, and the small, little safe space he felt, the walls he'd built up, fell down again like it was nothing.

He kept out of view of the porthole the entire rest of his shift, head down, hair in his face, and stayed even later than when his shift was supposed to end. Even then, even though it was hours after Gerard and Mikey would have left, he still checked over his shoulder before heading out the back door and to his car. He'd forgotten - he didn't have safe spaces. Not anymore.

//

It all went to shit one night.

It was the smallest thing, like in movies – and when Frank looked back on it later on, he almost saw it in slow-mo, and really up close. They were going out, and Gerard asked Frank to grab his jacket for him, ‘cause he'd spilled coke on his pants and was washing it off in the sink. Frank went into Gerard's study/studio and saw the jacket lying on the floor, half-tucked under the futon. He kneeled down to grab it and once he had, he saw a corner of a box peeking out, too. He frowned and, curiosity getting the best of him, pulled it out.

He almost dropped it the next second.

He _knew_ that box. He hadn't seen that box in almost a decade, but it was unmistakably his. Silently, he slid the top off – it wouldn't give at first, stuck together a bit – and there, inside it, were his cassette tapes. _Cassette tapes_. His childhood scrawl was all over them – black sharpie, pen, pencil, _stickers_ – and if he hadn't already been sitting on the floor, he might have wound up there, anyway. Frank felt like he couldn't breathe – could barely _think._

Gerard had kept his _tapes_. Gerard had _remembered_ him, had - had, what, snuck into Frank's childhood bedroom before it'd been emptied and stolen this? And kept it. This whole entire time, kept the box filled with his stupid childhood mixed tapes, for all these years, through all the –

He throat closed up and the next thing he knew, he was crying – hot tears splashing down his face, for all that he'd lost and all that he'd regained, but all wrong, it was _wrong_ -

"Joan? Joanie? What -"

Frank couldn't even turn around or look at Gerard. He sat on the floor in the dark room with the box of his tapes on his lap, _crying_ , feeling his make-up smearing down his skin, and when Gerard slowly made his way over to him, his voice was quiet.

"Oh. Those are –"

"My – Frank's tapes," Frank said, and finally managed to look up. Gerard had a crease between his eyebrows, like he was trying to figure out the angle, his mouth parted.

"How do you –"

And Frank couldn't – he couldn't –

He'd lied _enough_. He just – he just couldn't _do it_ anymore.

"You kept my tapes," he blurted out, his stomach swooping like it did in every dream in which he fell off a tall building. Shit swirled through his brain like – YOU'RE TECHNICALLY STILL IN WITSEC! YOU'RE BREAKING RULES! MARSHAL DEWEES IS GOING TO KILL YOU! YOU'RE JEOPARDIZING YOUR FAMILY! , _FUCK FUCK FUCK!_ – but he'd _done_ it now, and -

"What –"

Frank unclenched his fingers, set aside the box and forced himself to stand up, kind of shaking all over, wiping the tears from his face with unsteady hands. He hiccuped, once, because he was a _loser_ , then dropped his hands and looked Gerard in the eye. "I'm – fuck, Gerard, it's _me._ I'm not _Joan_ , I'm – I'm _Frank_."

Gerard's expression turned completely stricken, and confused as hell, and all Frank wanted was to reach out and touch him, reassure him, but he couldn't, because Gerard was stepping back – away from him – and Frank – "What the _fuck_? Joan, what –"

"I'm not, I'm – I'm Frank, Iero, _fuck_ , I haven't said that name in –"

"Frank _died_!" Gerard yelled, looking fucking – thunderous and dangerous and all screwed up in the dark, and Frank felt the first bubbling of hysteria welling up in his stomach. "How – what – what the fuck, what kind of a sick joke –"

"Frank didn't – I didn't _die_ , okay, it's – fuck, it's a really long story, Gerard, I just –"

"Fucking _tell_ it, then, or – or –" Gerard ran a hand through his hair, and Frank couldn't take how he _looked_ , angry and frustrated and totally _lost_.

"Okay, okay! Okay. Listen, I just. I." It was so _awkward_ , standing in the middle of Gerard's tiny office, completely ungrounded, wringing his hands and feeling the bits of his nail polish chipping off, but Frank had no advantage, no way to say "why don't we sit down and talk this out like rational adults" because _he'd started it_ , and now he had to fucking _finish_ it before Gerard inevitably threw him out on his ass. "When the – the Ieros were in that car accident? It wasn't – we weren't. We'd gone into witness protection."

" _What_?"

"My dad fucking – he witnessed a mob hit, okay? Just by a stupid – anyway, he wound up telling the cops or Feds or whoever the fuck, that he'd testify, so they just – they fucking took us into protective custody, and – we – I couldn't _tell_ you. I couldn't tell _anybody_ , _nobody_ fucking knew, okay, not even – not my grandparents, not my uncle, not –"

"What – I mean – how –"

"Do you believe me?" Frank asked, knowing it was a stupid question, and the least of his fucking lies, but it seemed ridiculously important, anyway, that Gerard believe him, right then and there, in that _moment_ , that he see Frank for who he really was. For who he'd been, anyway.

"I – maybe?" Gerard sounded half-crazed, and his hair looked it, from where he'd run his hands all over it. "If you're – if you're really – if you're Frank, how –"

"Ten, thirty, fifteen."

"What?"

"Your locker combination. You'd given it to me because your locker was closer than mine, and I could –"

"Switch out your books at lunch, so you wouldn't be late to Spanish class," Gerard finished for him, in an awed, quiet voice. A pause hung in the air. "Frankie."

"Gee. I'm –" Frank could feel his face crumpling.

"You were _dead,_ " Gerard whispered. "You'd fucking - _died_. You were _dead_!"

Frank couldn't stop the stupid fucking tears from returning, and he swiped at them angrily, pissed off that he couldn't even fucking control himself. His voice sounded thick and horrible when he spoke. "I wasn't – I was in fucking New Mexico, they wouldn't let us tell _anyone_ , it was all ‘cause – it was -"

"You're not _dead_ ," Gerard said again and Frank just looked at him through swimmy eyes and shook his head.

"No."

Gerard made an abortive move forward, then stopped, falling back against the window, hands propped up on the sill. "So why – how come you didn't tell me? Why are you – are you still in – why are you back now?"

Frank bit his lip, still leaking like a kid. How would he even _start_? "I'm technically not allowed to tell anyone –"

"So, were in witness protection like – like – as a woman?" Gerard interrupted. "Or are you –"

"No, I was – my WitSec name is Jack. Jack Antonio? And I wasn't supposed to leave, like. I just. I couldn't fucking take New Mexico anymore, so I - we – worked out a deal and I kind of just…took off." Frank scratched the back of his head and winced. "I mean. My parents, they didn't exactly like it. But I figured – I'd been a kid, you know? Who'd fucking recognize me like –"

"I didn't. I _didn't_ recognize you," Gerard said quietly and he looked like it physically hurt him to say it. "Why did you – _how_ did you find me? Was it – an accident?"

"Uhm." Frank bit his lip. The tears dried up, but his cheeks were flaming, he wanted to take an ice bucket to his face. "No? I – I ran across the art show in a flyer, and – I just – I wanted to see if –"

"So, you – dressed up as a woman?" Gerard sounded incredulous, and when Frank glanced up at him, he almost recoiled, because there it fucking was. Gerard looked _pissed._ Frank shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I – yeah." He opened his eyes again. "I just. I couldn't risk you figuring it out, and –"

"And what? You just – you were spying on me?"

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ "No!" _Yes_. "I was just – I wanted to see how you were, how you'd – you'd become an artist, and I – I hadn't exactly been planning on –"

"You lied to me?" Gerard asked, voice rising, making Frank want to flee back to the fucking desert. He forced himself to remain where he was.

"I couldn't tell you who I _was_!"

"But you let me – you let me take you out on a date, though! You let me believe – you let me be an _idiot_ , a complete fucking – fuck, all the bullshit about – your past, and – you let me introduce you to _Mikey!_ "

There was nothing he could say to make it better. "Yeah."

"You _knew_ , you let me go on about it – you – why would you – I fucking fell in _love_ with you! No, I fucking – I fell in love with _Joan_! She doesn't even fucking _exist_ , right?" Gerard yelled and then his face crumpled, just like that. Frank watched, horrified, as Gerard slapped a hand over his mouth, and looked at Frank like he – well, like he barely knew him.

"She - I'm – I'm _sorry_ , Gerard, I'm so – I thought –"

Gerard freed his mouth and spat out, "Don't fucking – you – I don't know what to fucking say, Frank. _Frank._ " He breathed out. "Jesus Christ."

Frank realized that he was wringing his hands, and there was nothing, _nothing_ , he could say or do to make this better. He'd done this. He'd _known_ it was a horrible idea, but he'd done it anyway, and he'd lied to himself – and, worse, to _Gerard_ – for _months_ , pretended there was something worth lying for, but – but there wasn't. Fuck, he'd screwed up so fucking _bad_. "Gerard –"

"Don't," Gerard cut him off, and Frank felt so stupid, he was such an _idiot_. "I – look, I – I can't fucking deal with this right now." Gerard looked horrible, and Frank felt worse. This was it. This was _it_. He wanted to cry, or beat his head against the wall, or go out and get smashed. Gerard was throwing him out, and he had every fucking _right_ to throw him out, and Frank just nodded, mumbling another pointless apology, and turned to leave.

"Frank," Gerard called out, quieter, but still not even close to calm. "I'll – I'll call you later. Or. Yeah, I'll call."

Frank just nodded. "Okay." What was another lie on top of such a fucking mountain, anyway. He let himself out and made himself think about nothing until he got home.

//

Gerard spent the rest of the night basically crying in a corner. Well, maybe not all night. And not all of it in a corner. Or alone. He called up Mikey, just telling him he needed to come over, and spilled the beans as soon as Mikey was through the door. It was probably dangerous, and stupid, and he was beating himself up for even letting Frank walk out the door, but he couldn't not tell Mikey. It was _Mikey_.

Mikey'd taken it remarkably well, although he'd blinked sort of steadily at Gerard for about a minute before he'd been able to say anything. Or at least he was pretending to take it well, was doing his usual Mikey thing of pulling it together so Gerard could be a wreck instead. Frank had been Mikey's friend too. Mikey had mourned him too. _Frank_. He was _alive_.

"He's never – he's never coming back!" he said at one point, horrified, and Mikey squeezed his hand dutifully.

"He will if you ask him to."

Gerard shook his head a lot. "No, I was awful, Mikey. You should have seen her – his _face_." Jesus, Joan's face. He fucking loved that face, thought about it so much, he thought he was going crazy. Her eyes, her pert tiny nose, the lips that pouted at will. He loved that face so _much_.

And now, he had no idea – maybe – he'd been so horrible, maybe Frank was transitioning, he just didn't get to that part of the story, and Gerard had fucking _yelled_ at him – "Oh my God, I am such an asshole," he moaned, dropping his head down to Mikey's chest.

"You are not an asshole," Mikey repeated for a hundredth time, squeezing Gerard's shoulder. It still made Gerard feel a tiny bit better. "It was a shock, okay? Jesus, _I'm_ not fucking over it."

Gerard sighed. "I fucking know. He's not _dead._ All those – all those months, and years, you know?" Gerard'd been such a fucking mess, and now – now he didn't fucking know _what_ he was, just in love with a person who didn't exist. Or did. Was more existing than not. Wasn't _dead_ , that's for fucking sure. "Jesus _Christ_."

"I know, Gee," Mikey said quietly, patting his fingers. "You'll apologize."

"I will?"

"You're sorry, aren't you?" Mikey asked.

Gerard stared ahead at the wall. "I don't know. I don't know if I'm mad or sad or pissed the fuck off or what. I don't even - I don't even know who to be mad at." He had to laugh a little at that, a little brokenly.

"I know it's kind of a mindfuck right now," Mikey said, pausing almost like he was considering his words, "but - he did come back. Most people don't get to have that."

Gerard rubbed a hand over his eyes. They both knew what it was like to lose people. Forever. They didn't just come back. But Frank - Frank had. In one way or another.

"You'll be okay," Mikey said, patting his shoulder as he moved away to turn on the coffeemaker.

"You sure of that, Mikeyway?" Gerard asked, resting his chin on his hand.

Mikey didn't turn around, but his hands were steady as he measured out the grounds. "I'm sure," he said.

Gerard wasn't so sure, but for the moment, he let someone else believe something to be true. He didn't know if he was so good at it anymore.

//

He didn't even last till it got dark the next day before he was knocking on Joan's – FRANK'S – door. He knew he looked HORRIBLE, and smelled like every cigarette in Jersey had been put out on him. But when Frank opened the door, he was a mess of tissues and blubber and didn't look too good, either. But he was wearing this chenille camisole, with a strap hanging down off his shoulder, and ratty silky shorts, and when Gerard looked down, he couldn't stop staring at Frank's red toenails. ;_____; And, like, all of Frank's makeup – he was _wearing makeup_ \- was gross and bleary and mostly gone, but THERE.

And just – it was Frank. FRANK. The prettiest boy/girl Gerard has ever fallen for, his FRIEND, the one whose hand he held those winter nights when they were kids, the one who DIED, for fuck's sake. The one who WASN'T DEAD.

But it was THERE, and Gerard was just so CONFUSED. Seeing Frank in his own place, the one that Gerard had known as JOAN'S before, dressed the same as Joan, SMELLING like Joan when Gerard silently pulled him in before even slamming the door shut and buried his nose in the soft skin of his neck – he felt almost drunk, kind of delirious. He didn't know WHAT to think.

"Gerard –"

"Joan - _Frank_ \- FUCK – I'm so sorry, I just - "

"Shh, it's okay," Frank whispered and smoothed a hand down Gerard's back. Gerard squeezed him tighter and tried not to think and not to ASK. He had so very many questions clamoring for attention in his brain, but he shut them all down, one by one, just holding onto the warm frame of this – this person who'd meant so much more to him than he could have ever suspected.

//

Frank was so fucking surprised and _relieved_ to see Gerard on his doorstep, he couldn't even talk. He'd called out of work and spent the better part of the afternoon trashed out of his gourd, and after he'd woken up on the couch, he spent a good half an hour hating himself before dragging his sorry ass into the shower and scrubbing himself completely clean. (He was pretty sure his hangover had come and gone under the hot spray.)

Then he'd immersed himself in the different comfort of sitting at the vanity and staring at himself painting lines on his face. He couldn't face himself as Frank, so he'd decided to see how Joan felt about it.

Joan had stared back at him through the cat-eye make-up and told him he was a stupid moron, but at least it was easier to take it from her. He'd curled up on the couch and fixed his toe polish while blasting Black Flag on his stereo and trying not to cry and failing pretty badly.

It was hours later that the doorbell had rung.

//

Gerard led him to the bathroom and helped Frank wash the mess off his face, and he didn't _say_ anything, really, and Frank couldn't tell what he was thinking behind his bangs. But he was here, in Frank's place, which meant that maybe not everything was lost. Frank leaned against the sink, his back to the mirror, and let Gerard take his time sponging the watery mascara from his cheeks.

It was only when he was done that Gerard sat down on the edge of the tub, swept the hair out of his eyes, and asked, "So, are you – transitioning? Like. For real?"

Frank felt the flush of embarrassment all across his face, down to his _toes._ He paused before answering, because – no. He didn't want to be a woman. He didn't actually want to be _Joan_. He had liked wearing Joan's clothes, though. He'd liked her things. "No. It isn't – it isn't that."

Gerard's eyebrows creased, like when he was thinking really hard and confusing the shit out of himself. "So –"

"I think I'm – it's." Frank sighed and slid down until he was sitting with his ass hanging out of his shorts on the cold tile floor. He felt his smooth legs, the spots where the stubble was already kind of coming through. He couldn't quite look Gerard in the eye, or like, look at him at _all_ For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say it. "I didn't really, like – have a plan? And this just… it felt… It felt –" _right,_ he thought, it felt _good_ , but he stopped himself from saying it, flushing even more, and picked at his nails. "I felt good. I mean, about how I – I looked."

Gerard was quiet for a really long time, but when Frank looked up, he didn't _look_ mad or upset. He was just kind of thoughtful, and when he caught Frank staring, he gave him a tiny smile. "That's okay," he said. "I think I get it."

"That makes one of us, then," Frank said before he could stop himself, and Gerard giggled. Frank scrunched up his nose. "Sorry, I just." Have no idea what to say. How to talk to you. This _sucks_. "Sorry."

Gerard ran a hand through his hair and slid down until he was on the floor, too. "Frank," he said, like a statement, not like he was addressing him. "Frank. So… So, I can – I should call you – you're _Frank._ "

Frank bit his lip and looked him in the eye. Gerard watched him back, looking weirdly torn and – Jesus, it only hit Frank then, really fucking hit him. "Yeah," he nodded, watching Gerard carefully. "If – if that's okay with you."

Gerard nodded very slowly, clutching his knees to his chest. "Yeah. Okay." There was a pause and then Gerard piped up again, blurting out, "You're dressed like Joan. I mean, right now. Is that –"

Frank winced, but answered, "I just felt like it. I don't know, really." Except he _did_.

Gerard nodded, and Frank watched as he squeezed his wrist kind of hard, like he was forcing himself not to do something.

//

After that, things become pretty awkward, but they were TRYING.

Frank meeting Mikey as himself again was interesting. Scary. Really fucking scary. He was just in a hoodie and jeans and his kicks, his in-betweener clothes, as he got to thinking of them (between work and Joan, work and Gerard. Gerard had stared at him the first time he showed up in a hoodie and jeans, like he was a ghost).

And Mikey just stared at him a lot.

And stared.

And Frank was like kind of TERRIFIED because oh my god that kid did not BLINK, and what if Mikey HATED him even though Gerard was standing next to him holding his hand. And Mikey just. He wasn't MAD, but he was still kind of mad on Gerard's behalf, because he'd had to watch Gerard cope with the loss and the aftermath of Frank's death all those years ago, and it was pretty fucking horrible.

He just didn't know WHAT to say. And it wasn't like it was Frank's FAULT. And becoming Joan wasn't entirely his fault, either - he couldn't reveal his identity. But letting himself get to close to Gerard? That? That was his fault.

Which really sucked, like. REALLY sucked. Because they all three of them had to get used to this. AND Frank had technically done something he shouldn't have, and he felt vaguely guilty over the legal side of it. But only vaguely. He mostly used the guilt for Gerard.

And even though Gerard had asked Frank what he wanted to go by, it still took him a WHILE to stop calling him Joan when it was just the two of them. Like. A WHILE, and it was AWKWARD and WEIRD.

//

It wasn't that things weren't good between them; they were just a little…strained. They were both too polite around each other, which made them feel distant, which made them feel _weird_ , which circled them back to trying harder by being polite. Frank worried at the feeling in his mind, chewing it over, smoking cigarette after cigarette on his breaks at work, not knowing what to do, how to _fix_ it. He knew it was his fault, knew that Gerard needed _time_ , but the knowledge of that immobilized him.

Frank stopped wearing Joan's clothes, started just wearing the hoodies and jeans with busted knees that he'd had before. He bought packs of t-shirts for work and slept in boxers and let his knees and face get scratchy and unshaved until he couldn't help it anymore, had to make them smooth.

After a couple of weeks of stilted phone calls and a string of awkward dates, all conducted on the neutral territories of diners and movie houses, Frank realized that he had had an easier time relating to Gerard when he was still _Joan_. He knew who Joan was. Jack was just a name on his government papers - Jack flipped burgers and deep-fried potatoes; Jack loaded up industrial dishwashers. Jack existed in greasy uniforms and had dirt under his fingernails, but Frank – Joan –

He wasn't Jack anymore, he thought. And he was too unused to being really _Frank_ , either. That self was fragile and unsure. That would take time, too.

But he knew exactly who Joan was. The thing was - when he'd told Gerard, when the truth had come out, he'd known in his brain that that was the end. That was the end of Joan. There wasn't a reason to keep the clothes, the make-up. Except - except that he wanted to. Even if Gerard didn't, even if Gerard never forgave him for what he'd done. Joan didn't exist, but - there was still something real, there, for him. They weren't Joan's clothes. They were his.

When he got home that night from the diner and washed all the grime away, he sat down in front of his sink and methodically built up his strength through powder, and eyeliner, and lip gloss. He slid on his favorite panties, the ones that didn't pinch in the sides and didn't bunch in the front, the expensive ones he got on a whim once, then pulled his yellow party dress off the hanger, lace all overlaid on the bust.

He fit himself into a bra, but didn't stuff it, and after brushing his hair, he pinched the bangs with a barrette – the one with the red daisy on the end.

He watched himself in the mirror, tracing the curve of his hip with one hand for one extended moment, then slipped his feet into his black Mary Janes. Joan stood before him, and he drew confidence from the stance of her spine, the strength of her shoulders. His heart hammered as he grabbed his purse, throwing cigarettes and his wallet and keys and lip gloss into it as he slammed out the door.

He was done with the weird awkward dance they'd been doing around each other. He knew what he wanted. Now he had to go and make it happen.

//

When Gerard opened his door, the last person he expected to see was _Joan_ , but there she - _he_? - was, eyes huge and accentuated, mouth pinched in a nervous line, one Gerard's gotten to know pretty well in recent weeks. He frowned as he stepped back to let her in, unsure what to do once he closed the door.

Joan - _Frank_ \- stood there, and her hands were worrying at the strap of the bag. Gerard wanted to say something, but suddenly realized he has no idea what to call the person standing in front of him; it was just such a shock to see her again. Frank hadn't been Joan since he'd revealed himself, and Gerard hadn't had to choose from the two before.

"Uhm, hi," he said, and then huffed from frustration. "Joan?" he tried, realizing he sounded completely stupid.

"Frank," was the response he got. "I'm. I'm me, okay?"

Gerard wasn't sure how to take that yet, but he nodded and tried it out, watching Frank's flawlessly made-up features, the softness of his skin, the pout of his lips. "Okay. Frank." He paused, waiting for a reaction, then said, "Hi." Then he felt idiotic all over again.

Frank scrunched up his nose and sighed. "Look, I know this is – weird. I just. I wanted to talk to you, and I figured – the last time we had a non-weird conversation, I was – well, I mean. _Fuck._ "

Gerard really wanted to get out of the dark and cramped hallway. He was nearly blind from inking all day long, and seeing Frank like this was throwing him further off the reality trail. He needed something. He needed –

"Okay. I'll – I'll make us coffee, all right? Come - come with me." It wasn't a command, but Frank nodded and followed, his high heels clicking softly on the linoleum, then carpeting, then back to linoleum.

The kitchen was bright enough that Gerard could make out dark circles under the light layer of foundation over Frank's cheeks. Frank looked more lost and out of place in Gerard's small kitchen than Joan ever did, and Gerard felt a pinch in his chest. He didn't want that, not at all.

On impulse, he grabbed Frank's hand and squeezed it. Frank gave him a tiny smile and finally seemed to relax, just a little bit. Gerard wished that he could, too. He was wound up, and pretty much at sea. This shit was easier when all Joan was, was transitioning, not a long-lost best friend and first love who'd long been dead.

How did he never recognize the eyes, he wondered and turned quickly away to putter, making coffee. He spooned out six cups worth of grounds, then slowly filled up the water, trying not to splash and still getting water all over the counter. By the time he hit the "brew" button, Frank had hung his purse on the chair and sat down at the table, legs crossed, hands squeezing each other on the Formica tabletop. When he looked up at Gerard, Gerard bit his lip and breathed out.

_Frank._

_Jesus._

Gerard sat down across from him and wished the lighting in here was dimmer, cozier maybe. Frank looked down at his hands – Gerard only then noticed that his nails were polish-free, just neatly trimmed and perfectly clean – and said, "I'm sorry."

Gerard looked up. Frank's gaze met his. They'd been avoiding saying those words to each other just as much as they'd been avoiding touching each other too much, and as much as they'd been pretending that everything was just fine like that.

"I am," Frank continued. "I'm _sorry_. I know that you said – but it's still, it's…I shouldn't have gotten close again. I should have just… I'm sorry I lied."

"You didn't have a choice," Gerard reminded him dumbly. He felt like he was swimming against the current, something about this wasn't making sense, and he didn't know what, but it was fucking him up, making him stupid and slow.

Frank shook his head in answer. "I didn't have to lie…with this. But it's – this –" he said, sweeping his hand in a gesture that encapsulated everything he was wearing, "it's – me, too. Or. I think." Gerard watched Frank's face while he clearly struggled with something. "This is who I am, too. It's part of me."

Gerard nodded. It made sense, weirdly, just like Joan not having been born a girl made sense. It made Gerard want to ask Frank so many questions, find out so many things. But Frank didn't – it didn't seem like he was ready. He bit his lip, then said. "I'm just - fuck, I just, Gee – I'm so fucking sorry."

The sound of the nickname on Frank's lips, a name that Joan had never uttered, uncoiled something in Gerard's belly, something that had been holding up his spine and limbs together, because he sagged down into himself the next second and felt his face falling. "Frank –"

"Gerard, I – " The next second, Frank was surging out of the chair, the scrape of the legs loud in the small space around them, and an urgent step brought him to Gerard, and Frank was tugging on his hands until Gerard followed the movement up, until they were face to face, because in heels, Frank was almost as tall as Gerard. It was so weird how he never really grew past his height at thirteen. "I never wanted to fuck this up, but there was a reason I found you again, okay? We're – I know it's awkward as fuck right now, but I want to make it better, I –"

"I wanna make it better, too," Gerard said, his voice breaking in his throat a little, so he cleared it. "I fucking – I don't know – " _who you are_ floated through his mind, but he realized that thought was actually on its way out, so what he said was, "How to get you _back_ ," because maybe that had been one of those fears that he hadn't even put the words to until now. Joan slipped away and Frank had been such a stranger, but the two weren't really ever separate. He'd always loved them both.

"I'm sorry," Frank breathed again, and Gerard ducked his head until their foreheads were touching. It was really important that what he said next came out exactly as he meant it.

"You shouldn't feel sorry. It's both of us. Okay?"

Frank's elbows pressed against Gerard's belly, their hands clutched so tight, he was surprised air could even travel between them. The coffeemaker huffed and the smell of the fresh brew filled the room suddenly, like it, too, was controlled by only a switch.

"Okay," Frank whispered, and when he tilted up his face, Gerard barely had to lean down to kiss him, for the first time since they’d fought. The familiar taste of Frank's lip gloss made him whimper, and then Frank slid his hands out of Gerard's grip and bunched Gerard's t-shirt up in two fists, pressing so close, all Gerard could feel was Frank's body, flush and hot against him. The only sounds that he could hear were the scratch of lace against his body, and Frank's breathing, hot and desperate and needy. It mingled with his own.

//

Gerard led Frank to the bedroom slowly, like he was worried Frank would run if he was pushed. But he wasn't being pushed, he was walking pretty fucking willingly. Or, stumbling, because they were in the dark, and shoes and books kept tripping them up in the hallway.

They had a lot more shit to talk about, but the kissing in the kitchen had led to groping in the kitchen, had led to Gerard looking at Frank like he was dying and even when they were kids, Frank could never ever _ever_ resist Gerard looking at him like that.

And the thing was, they'd done stuff together before, of course they had – Frank beat off to the lingering taste of Gerard's cock in his mouth on more than one occasion, and after a while, he'd started doing it even in Gerard's presence, but hidden away under skirts, rubbed out against Gerard's thighs or belly and, once, Gerard's hand, quick and hard and desperate, but he'd never been naked with Gerard, never let him touch his cock or fuck him, and he wanted it so much, the mere possibility of it now fucking burned him from the inside out. He had no idea what was going to happen. He couldn't fucking wait to find out.

By the time they made it to Gerard's bedroom and gone through all the _are you sure?_ s and _maybe we should wait_ s and _Jesus, just – want you so fucking much_ , he really thought it _would_. Frank was fucking gagging for it, and Gerard had him pinned up hard against the wall in a way Joan never would have gone for, because Gerard could probably feel everything, down to skin and bone.

It was kind of the hottest thing to ever happen to Frank, possibly because he had nothing left to hide. They kissed and kissed, until Frank's lipstick had rubbed off, until his panties got so tight that he squirmed just to get more comfortable. And when Gerard released him, Frank almost sank to his knees right then and there, the outline of Gerard's hard-on so fucking tempting, straining through his jeans. But Gerard caught him by the wrist and shook his head.

"Can I – can I see you?" he asked, panting, and sounding kind of shy at the same time. It was dark in the room, and Frank could see the vaguest impression of Gerard's face, outlined by a streetlamp.

His heart pounded hard against his ribcage when he nodded and lifted his hands to the cardigan, going to shrug it off.

Again, Gerard stilled him and whispered, "No, wait. I want to, let me."

He didn't wait for Frank to answer this time, and for the next minute they were both totally quiet and weirdly _solemn_ as Gerard's warm hands slipped Frank's cardigan off his shoulders and down his arms. All Frank could hear was his own breathing and the shushing rustling of his clothes. Gerard caught his gaze real quick before turning him around and undoing the zipper of the dress. He waited for Frank to turn back around, then let the dress fall from his hands and then Frank was just – standing in front of him in bra and panties, belatedly realizing he was still wearing the shoes, too.

He felt completely and entirely exposed. He hadn't bothered with shaving his treasure trail and now he felt weird and awkward and he couldn't even _look_ at Gerard, but then he heard this noise, like a whimper or a gasp, he couldn't actually tell, and the next moment, Gerard was dropping to his knees in front of Frank, eyes fucking huge and bright even in the dark, and grabbing Frank by the waist, reeling him in.

Frank gasped at the first press of Gerard's mouth on his belly, open and wet and hot and he couldn't help grabbing Gerard's hair in a tight fist, needing to get closer. "Gee –"

"Frankie," Gerard whispered, voice muffled against Frank's skin. "You're so motherfucking gorgeous, oh my God."

Frank gulped and spread his legs just to keep himself balanced. Gerard was kissing his way across his belly, hot, open-mouthed kisses that veered dangerously close to Frank's dick. Gerard's hands were vise grips on his hips, thumbs digging in, almost hurting. Frank squirmed against him, his thoughts scattering away with Gerard's every touch.

"Your – Jesus, I had no idea you had these." Gerard's thumbs stroked the tips of Frank's birds, then outlined them in a light touch that had Frank squirming and growing needier, harder. "And is that –" His fingers dug into the words etched into Frank's skin.

"I was angry," Frank panted, his breath coming in short. He wasn't sure now was the time to discuss his tattoos, but he wanted to give Gerard time. All the time that he needed. "This was kind of a –"

"Catharsis?" Gerard whispered, looking up at Frank. Frank just nodded dumbly, his breath constricting. "You're beautiful," Gerard repeated in an awed whisper and Frank had to shut his eyes for a minute, it was too fucking much.

When he opened them again, Gerard had slipped his hands into the waistband of Frank's panties, still looking up at him. Frank saw his Adam's apple dip, the shadow of it somehow the only focus of Frank's gaze. He knew the silent question and on an impulse, he ran a shaky hand gently across Gerard's cheek, fingers tunneling through his hair as he slid it up and tightening. He thought that, for as long as he lived, he'd never forget the look in Gerard's eyes.

Then he nodded.

Gerard blew him without bothering to take off Frank's bra, blew him as soon as Frank's panties hit the floor. And Jesus Christ, Frank hadn't been sucked off in, like, a year, and he couldn't even fucking muffle his voice at all, not like he'd forced himself to when he'd been Joan. He gasped and moaned and swore, because Gerard's mouth on his cock – sucking and licking, teasing at first, then full-on _deep-throating_ , like Gerard was _dying_ for it – was too fucking good to last. Frank's ears kept popping and his knees shook so hard, he fell back against the wall just so he wouldn't topple the fuck over.

He held onto the wall with one slippery hand and almost _did_ give out when Gerard pulled up and jacked Frank off with the head of his dick still in his hot mouth. Frank came with a jerk of his hips and a groan, spilling right onto Gerard's willing tongue, all of it wrenched out of him so hard, it almost hurt. But, _fuck_ , it hurt so good.

Gerard let Frank's softening dick slip out of his mouth and stayed on his knees, hands still digging into Frank's hips. Frank just looked at him silently, trying to get his breath back, watching on the tiny drop of come in the corner of Gerard's mouth for a while before slicking it off with his thumb.

"I've wanted to blow you forever," Gerard whispered, giving Frank a quirky smile. Frank laughed despite himself and tugged on Gerard's hair until he got the message and heaved himself up. Kissing him now tasted even better with Frank's spunk mixing in.

Since they were sharing, he thought that maybe it was as good a time as any to tell Gerard of his own fantasy, the one he'd bring out on really special occasions, the kind where he'd also bring out the dildo he bought off the internet a few months back, and go to town.

He broke off the kiss and leaned into Gerard's neck, whispering from where wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "I've wanted you to fuck me forever."

Gerard's hand in his hair tightened and he felt Gerard shudder. "Jesus, Frankie." His voice was hoarse, and Frank pressed up closer, Gerard's jeans pressing against his soft dick, _God_ , Gerard was fucking _hard._ Frank wanted him so fucking much, he might as well have been hard himself.

"You want to, right?" he asked, feeling remarkably stupid, but nervous, too, like – like any rejection from Gerard just then would make him want to crawl into a hole and die.

He felt the rumble of Gerard's laugh before he heard it, and then Gerard was leaning back and grabbing Frank's face, all crinkly eyes and smiling lips. "Do I – you're – Christ, baby," he laughed, and Frank's stomach flipped with the nickname, something Gerard had called Joan only once or twice, in his braver, later moments, but never with Frank.

Before Frank could answer, Gerard was kissing him and sliding his hands down until he gripped his waist and – "Wait, Gee, what the!" – picking Frank up right off the floor, hoisting him up until Frank was forced to wrap his legs around Gerard or topple them both over and die.

Gerard staggered a little, forcing a panicked yelp out of Frank, and grunted, "I'm taking you to the bed now," like Frank had been asking him a stupid question. He could have figured that part out of it himself.

"Okay, but why are you - _oof_!" He didn't finish the question because Gerard threw him down onto the mattress like he was a chick in a bodice-ripper or something. Which, Frank had to admit, he really probably _was._ Frank giggled at Gerard's wide-eyed expression and kicked off his shoes, _finally_ , Jesus Christ, throwing them overboard.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Gerard asked, pulling his t-shirt off by the collar, hair falling around his head like a crazy halo. Frank shook his head and laughed some more, because he just couldn't _stop_ , they were – they were here, they were finally _here_ , and it felt so good, it was _crazy._

He took the moment of Gerard getting undressed to unhook and slip off the bra, feeling only a little odd, lying on Gerard's bed completely naked. Then Gerard was standing at the foot of the bed completely, gloriously, and beautifully naked himself, and Frank couldn't fucking wait anymore. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, Gee," he begged, all laughter ceasing in his throat, hands grasping at air until Gerard kneed his way up to the bed and pinned Frank there with his body.

They were skin to skin, for the first time. Gerard had been shirtless before, or with his jeans down around his thighs when Frank would blow him, but now they rolled around the bed, kissing like it was going out of style, and their hands were just – everywhere, Frank couldn't stop touching all of Gerard's skin, right there under his fingertips, smooth and soft and warm. He slipped his hands down and clung to Gerard's ass, pressed up against his cock, while Gerard licked and sucked at his neck, then tore out of Frank's grasp and bit his way down his chest.

"Jesus, your _tattoos_ , Frankie, it's been – driving me fucking crazy, not knowing," he whispered in between bites and kisses and Frank giggled himself breathless at Gerard's awed voice, the way he wouldn't let Frank do anything but lie there and be _watched_ , looked at like he was the freaking Mona Lisa, when all he was, was naked.

Gerard bit the fleshy part of his hip and Frank groaned, bucked into it. "Gerard –"

"Turn over, Frankie," Gerard whispered instead of answering, and Frank flushed all over, rolling himself onto his stomach and burying his flaming face in the coolness of Gerard's pillow. _Now, now, now_ , he thought when he felt hot breath fanning over the small of his back, and then - _Jesus_ \- more heat traveling down his ass, and then – he bucked, groaning, because Gerard just started _licking_ him, right over his asshole, flickering maddening touches, hot and slick and unrelenting. Frank felt his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and everything tingled, from his scalp down to his toes. He was so turned on, all he could do was grip the sheets in his fists and buck back into Gerard's mouth, rut against him, like a dog in heat. He couldn't even stop himself, no matter how ridiculous he must look, because it felt so _fucking_ good.

Gerard wasn't stopping, either, but he was fucking _moaning_ against Frank, even as he rimmed him, and his hands gripped Frank's ass, parting him in a way that looked probably obscene but let Gerard go to town and drove Frank absolutely crazy. It took him another few seconds of mindless groaning to realize that, _fucking hell_ , he was hard again, his dick growing against his belly, balls heavy and tight. He wanted to be fucked so much, he thought he saw stars.

"Gee, Gerard – Gerard, please, _please_ ," he begged. "Now, do it now." He was delirious with the need for it, and he shoved the pillow away so he could get to the cool sheet, everything was too fucking hot to touch, he needed _more_.

"Oh fuck," Gerard panted right against Frank's ass, stayed there for a minute, probably needing to get air back into his lungs, then Frank was suddenly let go and he flopped down awkwardly onto his hip, landing sideways. Gerard came into bleary view once Frank could open his eyes. He saw Gerard stretching to get to the bedside table, and he rooted around for a while, cursing the entire time.

"Jesus fucking Christ, it's – I haven't – oh, thank God." Gerard pulled himself away from the bedside table and landed half on Frank, triumphantly holding up the condoms and lube gripped in one fist. Frank giggled despite himself and pawed at Gerard until he got him to turn over and kiss him.

"Fuck me," he mumbled, beyond any kind of embarrassment now.

Gerard didn't wait this time. He gave Frank another deep kiss, then sat up on his knees, ripping the condom open and slipping it over his dick. Frank followed his every moment, mesmerized by the reality in front of him. Even in the dark, he could see how flushed Gerard was, from his face down to his belly, where it met his pale hips and darker cock, jutting out over his belly. Frank reached out without thinking and ran a finger from Gerard's nipple all the way down to his leg, leaving a scratchy trail of red marking the skin.

Gerard groaned and caught his wrist. "How – how do you want it?" he asked, using his momentum to roll Frank fully onto his back.

Frank stretched and tipped his head back against the sheets. "Like this," he whispered.

"Okay." Gerard took Frank's knee and moved between his legs, sitting back on his heels. "Do you – should I –" He broke off and pulled a face, clearly uncomfortable about something, then wiggled his fingers. _Oh._

Frank shook his head, flushing. "No, I – just go slow, okay?"

Gerard nodded shakily, then popped open the bottle of lube. Frank could watch Gerard slick up his cock forever, and for a little while he did, watching the way Gerard's thumb flicked up a bit at the head, but he was still strung tight as a bow, his own dick hard and throbbing. "C'mon," he urged quietly, and grabbed a pillow to shove under his hips. "C'mere."

When Frank first guided Gerard's dick inside him, they both held their breath. They released it, groaning against each other the next moment. It hurt, but Gerard was gentle, going slow, letting Frank adjust to it. He felt big, _too_ big, but Frank breathed through the burn of it, moving his hips up to meet him, holding on tight, until the burn became a nice slide, filling him up. He could feel how wound up Gerard was, the tension in his back and shoulders insane, like he was carrying the world. Gerard's eyes, when he glimpsed them, looked wild and desperate.

Frank grabbed his hair and kissed him, urging him to move faster with his hips, leading them both. Gerard got it. He fucked him faster and faster, angling to hit the spot, and Frank gasped louder every time. He couldn't coordinate himself to kiss Gerard anymore, couldn't really do anything but hold onto the headboard behind him and get _fucked_ , harder and faster with each second.

Gerard panted with face buried against Frank's chest, his neck, tiny moans escaping every time he thrust into Frank, fucked him harder still.

Jesus, Frank didn't think he could get louder, but he did, hoarse from it, unable to catch his breath, unable to even _think_. He wrapped his thighs around Gerard and met his thrusts, his cock trapped between their bellies in a delicious friction that was going to tip him over in a minute, he knew, he could feel it. They moved faster, sweat gliding between them, becoming uncoordinated as Gerard got louder; he was nearly there, too. Frank wormed his hand between them and jerked himself off, the tension winding tighter, he was – oh fuck, he was so close, _so close_ -

"Like that, oh fuck, don't – don't stop," he panted and Gerard grabbed his hair and tipped him up for a messy kiss, tongues and teeth clashing, before Frank felt his balls drawing up, everything swelling, and then he was coming, Gerard's dick still moving inside him. His skin zapped, he felt like he was on _fire_. He shook and shook, until he realized it wasn't him shaking anymore, but Gerard, hands fisted in Frank's hair, dick slamming into him one last time as Gerard came, groaning against Frank's neck.

It felt like an eternity before either one of them could move. It took even longer to disentangle and get life back into their limbs. Frank's thighs cramped and he shook them out while Gerard got rid of the condom and padded out of the room, throwing Frank a quick grin first.

Frank was lying on his side, surrounded by the smell of sex and sweat lingering on the sheets, when Gerard came back with a washcloth in hand. Frank grinned. "You're such a gentleman."

Gerard smiled sweetly and shrugged. "Thought you might want it," he said, extending it to Frank. Frank swiped at his stomach, then did the same to Gerard, who kind of looked surprised.

"What, you were just gonna stay that way?" Frank laughed, throwing the washcloth over the side of the bed.

Gerard didn't answer, lying down, instead, and burrowing under the covers. "Hi," he said after a while. "Frankie."

Frank bit his lip. He was sore and tired and kind of wrung out, but he waited for whatever would come next. "Yeah?"

"I just." Gerard shrugged, his gaze kind of far away, unfocused. "We'll need to talk more, I guess." He paused. "Right?"

Frank's belly churned. Of course they will. There was still so much more to say. "Yeah."

Gerard sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Let's sleep for now, though, okay?"

Frank nodded, feeling back on shaky ground, uncertain of the morning. "Okay."

Gerard rolled his eyes and shuffled so close on the bed, his eyes became a giant mutant one in Frank's vision. "Stay with me. If you – if you want."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight. And. More. If you want."

Frank's heart beat so fast and hard, he was certain Gerard could feel it through his skin. He grabbed Gerard's hand and squeezed it. "Okay. Good night, Gee."

Gerard leaned in and kissed him. "Good night. Frank."

They fell asleep spooning, like they'd done before as Joan and Gerard.

//

When they both woke up around four am for no reason, Gerard asked Frank about New Mexico. What had happened to him out there, how he had lived. The questions and answered tumbled out of them in the grey morning light, and Frank finally got to start asking the questions he never would have dared to ask as Joan.

Gerard told him all about the aftermath of his disappearance, the pain of it lessened by the fact that Frank was right there, alive, in front of him. Told him about college. Told him about Helena, and Mikey growing up, and himself, becoming an artist. Frank told him the stories he could tell. Told him about his parents' bitter divorce, his futile anger and blind rage. His own aborted college experience.

Then he talked about Joan.

Talked about how he'd known for a while now that this was who he was; his sudden transformation had turned out to have been a part of him all along. He may not have been Joan, but she had been _him_. And he, it turned out, was a cross-dresser. (He finally said it, out loud, and felt like grinning about it, because yeah. He WAS.)

Gerard watched him with wide eyes and kissed him when he was done talking, feeling parched, like he'd walked a million miles in the desert.

"I just want to be with _you_ ," Gerard told him. "I want you to be happy, you know? And who you are."

Frank wanted that, too. The only thing he wanted more was to have his own life back, but nobody could control that, least of all the two of them.

//

It took them a while to figure out how to fit together in a new way, but it was better. SO MUCH better. It might not have been something that would've worked for everybody, and they knew that, but it was something that worked for them, and that was all that mattered.

Frank wasn't lying anymore, to Gerard or to himself, and Gerard had forgiven him, had taken him back. As HIMSELF. He didn't have to be jealous anymore. He had what he wanted.

They went on dates, they slept over at each other's places. Frank preferred Gerard's place, really, because he had a nicer kitchen, and an actual bed, not a mattress. After a while, Gerard cleaned out a couple of drawers for Frank's essentials, like a change of work clothes, his shorts, his panties. His bras, some socks. A pair of stockings. He bought Frank a fancy electric toothbrush to keep next to his own crappy one.

They made out during movies, they went out clubbing with Mikey.

Gerard fucked Frank when he just came off a shift at the diner, sweaty and tired and in those stupid white V-neck shirts that showed off the top of his chest tattoos, and he fucked him in the bathrooms of nice restaurants with Frank's heels sliding against the marble walls while Gerard held him up. Sometimes Frank would go down on his knees, tulle spreading out against the floor, and suck Gerard off until his dick was red from smeared lipstick, and he'd make Gerard reapply it after, since he was the one to ruin it, mess Frank's mouth up so raw.

Gerard found it fascinating to watch Frank shave, too, even though he felt weird admitting it at first - Frank didn't just shave his face, but his pits and his legs and chest and sometimes his arms, too, with these long, stretched motions that belied months of practice. Frank'd apparently gotten it down to a science when he'd been Joan, but sometimes he let Gerard do that, too, once he figured out he liked watching the slow _shhhhk_ of the blade against his skin. The best was when Frank shaved in the tub, though, because Gerard would strip down and get in and even though Frank batted his hand away he wouldn't protest too much when he jerked him off, razor dropping to the floor, back plastered to Gerard's chest and panting up at the ceiling, and later, when he had his hands up Frank's skirt it would be all smooth skin except tiny strips where he'd missed and Gerard would rub his fingers against them, remembering the cold of the bathroom tile.

//

Gerard was on his way out the door when his phone went off in his pocket. He dug it out right before the phone cut to voicemail and fumbled it to his ear, keys clanging against the plastic.

"Hey, I'm on the way -" Gerard started, but Frank cut him off.

"No, no, it's cool, listen, I'm not going to make it tonight, got held up at work," Frank said. Gerard paused, hand still on the doorknob. Frank was supposed to be off hours ago.

"You sure?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll call you tomorrow okay?" Frank said. It was quiet, wherever he was. It didn't sound like the diner. Even when he'd call him from the bathroom or the back alley sometimes it was loud, thrumming with people close by.

"Okay, sure," Gerard said. He hesitated, but before he could say anything else Frank hung up, and Gerard was left with the dial tone in his ear.

//

Gerard ground the butt of his cigarette out under his boot and made his way across the street, passing Frank's car parked underneath the streetlight. He wanted to tip toe up the stairs to Frank's apartment at the back but pulled himself back - he wasn't doing anything wrong, he was just - curious. Worried.

He knocked gently at Frank's door, and lent close against the doorframe. "Frank?" He called out, keeping his voice low.

No answer. Gerard sighed.

"Seriously, Frank are you there?" he tried again.

Still nothing.

Gerard half-heartedly tried the doorknob as he turned away and, to his surprise, found that it opened. He paused, then made his way in.

There was light coming from the bathroom, but all of the other lights in the apartment were off. Gerard closed the door quietly behind him and made his way down the hallway, making sure to dodge the haphazard stack of books Frank'd piled by the doorframe. 

He knocked quietly on the door but didn't wait for an answer to push it open.

The first thing he noticed was that Frank'd spilled nail polish all over the sink, a total mess, which was really unlike him, but the second thing he noticed was that it wasn't polish at all, but blood.

"Fuck," Gerard said.

" _Fuck_ ," Frank said from beside him, and Gerard whirled to stare.

Frank was sitting on the lip of the bathtub, stripped down to bra and underwear, face stained with blood, and looking _furious_. He had a rag pushed to his face but the white of it was already ruined, and his knuckles were fucked up, broken and red. His cigarette was half-down to the filter, mostly ash.

"What the fuck _happened_ ," Gerard said, immediately going to his knees on the bathmat by Frank's feet. He reached out for Frank's face but Frank pulled back, and Gerard felt stupid, clumsy.

"Frank, seriously, what the _fuck_ ," he just said, leaning back and resting his hands on his thighs.

Frank took a long drag from the cigarette and ashed into the bathtub behind him. "Nothing," he said sullenly.

Gerard was suddenly furiously angry, and it rolled around in his gut, but - he knew it wasn't anger, it was something else, but he didn't know what to do with it. He felt useless. " _Frank_ ," he said again.

Frank stared at him. There was black and purple smudged around his eye, and Gerard honestly didn't know if it was a bruise or just smeared makeup. He didn't want to know.

"They didn't like my dress very much," Frank said finally, and took another drag.

Gerard felt everything drain out of his body all at once. "Frank-"

"Seriously, don't-" Frank said. He was keeping his voice light, but it was tight, and his shoulders were tense.

Gerard huffed out a breath. _Fuck_. They'd - they'd gotten looks sometimes, when they went out. Not everyone was as blindsided by Frank as he'd been, some people thought it _mattered_ , but they'd never done anything when he'd been there. He just - sometimes he forgot that some people couldn't see Frank like he did.

"Did they -" he started, but Frank shook his head with a quick, abortive motion.

"I think I broke his face on the curb," Frank said, and smiled a little crookedly.

Gerard didn't smile. His whole body was thrumming and the anger had turned to a horrible, almost overwhelming fear. "Look, maybe. Maybe you should, I don't know, just...be _careful_ -" he stumbled, and immediately Frank jerked away.

"Don't you say another word to me," Frank said, voice low. "I know exactly who I fucking am, and if some motherfucking _dickscabs_ can't handle that then that's their own god-damned fault. And if they think they can make me regret it, then they're going to learn just how hard I can fucking fight for it," he said, practically spitting out the words by the end.

Gerard curled his hands into fists and exhaled, calming himself. Frank stared down at the floor. His blue toenail polish was chipped and there were streaks of mud across the top of his feet.

Gerard quietly got back to his feet and rinsed out the sink, washing the spatters of blood down the drain. He grabbed a clean washcloth from the rack on the wall and wet it with cool water, and then carefully moved to sit next to Frank on the lip of the bathtub.

This time when he moved to touch Frank he didn't shirk away, just kept staring down at the ground. Gerard fixed the strap of his bra that was threatening to slip off, making him look even more lopsided, and pried the bloodied washcloth out of his hands and dropped it into the tub behind them. It wasn't as bad as it seemed - his nose wasn't broken, but had bled pretty heavily, and most of the rest of it seemed to come from a gash on his face that looked like it had already started to scab.

Gerard quietly wiped at Frank's face, cleaning all the shit off, and Frank just sat there not smoking his cigarette. He quietly pressed his knee to Gerard's, though, and when Gerard was done he pressed a kiss to Frank's temple.

"I'm going to get you some ice. You go lie down," Gerard said, and Frank just nodded.

Gerard made a small detour back from the kitchen to stop by the bathroom to grab the bottle of nail polish remover and the little bottle of blue polish. When he got back to the living room Frank was already curled up on the mattress on top of the covers with his back to the door, bra off, the long lines of the words of his tattoos disappearing under the elastic of his waistband.

Frank was quiet when Gerard sat down next to him, but took the dishrag wrapped around the bag full of ice without hesitation and pressed it to his face. Gerard maneuvered himself farther down the mattress until he could pull Frank's feet into his lap. He worked carefully with the polish remover and polish to fix the nails where they'd gotten fucked up, and when he looked up later Frank was sleeping, finally untensed.

When Gerard was done he put the little bottles on the windowsill and curled up next to Frank on the mattress, close enough that he could listen to Frank's breaths, even and regular and safe.

//

Months passed. Sometimes Frank showed up in jeans and hoodies and briefs and sometimes in panties and sometimes he showed up at Gerard's apartment in dresses and nothing at all underneath, and it took everything Gerard had to coordinate enough to get Frank in the door before he shoved him up against a wall. They fucked hard, until Frank's makeup smeared, and in the morning Gerard started the coffee and Frank would roll out of the bedroom in his old and worn boy-sweats, and Gerard pressed him up against the fridge to kiss the sleep lines off his face.

Gerard was happier than he ever thought he could be, _knew_ he could be. It wasn't weird, or different, or strange, it was just _them_. One day, though, he was over at Frank's place cooking dinner, and Frank was puttering around in his bedroom - for what warranted a bedroom in Frank's apartment, seriously, Frank needed a bigger place, but Gerard hadn't brought it up yet, since Frank seemed so attached to it - when Frank's phone started buzzing.

Gerard didn't listen in when Frank answered, but then Frank cried out some startled, strange noise and Gerard practically dropped the pan to see what was the matter. Frank was on the mattress, half-off the side, like he just dropped down, phone pressed up to his ear.

Frank looked like he was about to cry and Gerard's mind reeled - his family was dead, someone was dead, something terrible had happened, it was the end, and then Frank's face broke, even as he half-curled up on himself, hand over his eyes.

It took him a little while to get an answer, when Frank finally pulled it together, but - the mob operation that Frank's father had inadvertently gotten his family entangled with had been taken down, each and every single one of them, all sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.

"Does this mean," Gerard started, unsure of everything, what to even say. "Does this mean, that - you're -"

"It's done," Frank said, wiping at his eyes. "They're - we're _free_. It's _done._ They can - they can come back."

"So you - "

"I don't have to be anybody anymore," Frank said, looking up at him. He still had the phone cradled in his hand, finger over the end call button.

Gerard sat down next to him on the mattress. "Who do you want to be?" he asked quietly.

Frank grinned, then, and fixed the strap of his dress before leaning against Gerard's side. "Still me," he said. "Always me. Just with a real Jersey license."

Gerard kissed him, and wiped away the wet from his face, and it was hard, because Frank was smiling so much, but Gerard didn't care in the slightest.

//

So Frank got his Jersey license - _Frank Anthony Iero Jr._ , and it looked a lot like every other Jersey license but it was Gerard's favorite. He suspected he was biased, though, if only because the little thrill he got every time he saw the I.D. card and saw his address - their address - right there under Frank's name. Frank wasn't smiling in his picture, not directly, but Gerard could see it, just barely contained in the corner of his mouth.

Frank's family moved back, his parents getting separate places, but back where they belonged. It took them a while to get acclimated back into their old life, a decade of missing their families, of being dead and buried, but Frank saw them as much as he could, as much as he _wanted_ , and every time he got back from seeing his mom or dad, his face kind of _glowed_ , in a way Gerard hadn't really seen before, like he was finally becoming complete.

Frank and Gerard had moved into some small little house just a few streets away from Mikey. It was tiny but it felt huge, and there were closets for Frank's clothes and shoe racks on the backs of the doors and an extra bedroom for guests and an offshoot in the back where Gerard painted without tracking anything in across the kitchen floors. The main reason they got it, though, was the bathroom, a real bathroom with a tub and shelves and a long sink set into the counter and proper vanity lights, which made everything - made Frank, especially - look beautiful and soft.

They went out all the time, now, to shows and openings and to Frank's shitty diner, where Gerard'd sit at the end of the counter working on a pot of coffee and his sketchbook until Frank got off shift and they could split cigarettes all the way home.

Gerard had worried, a little, about reintroducing Frank to the people who'd known him as Joan. Not for himself, but for Frank - he couldn't help it, not everyone _got_ it, even though he knew Frank could take care of himself. But most of Gerard's friends were Gerard's friends, and used to _Gerard_ , so Frank in his dresses and heels didn't seem that strange to them after all. Gerard had the best friends.

Mikey and Frank hit it off, once Mikey actually got over Frank actually being alive again (it took some time, and some carefully planned semi-groveling on Frank's part, but Mikey certainly didn't seem to mind the new additions to his DVD collection), and Pedicone and Frank went to shows all the time when Gerard was holed up at work with a deadline, or to one of the hardcore ones when Frank wanted a pit buddy. He'd come home, sweaty and filthy and blood behind his ears, and they'd fuck on the floor and in the shower after Gerard scrubbed his hair.

Gerard's artwork really started to take off, and he had shows in New York a few times, even farther, and Frank was always there, proud as anything, pressed pleats and new shoes.

//

Frank didn't know what he wanted to do, but he didn't really care - he could do anything he wanted to do. He played guitar, sometimes, and he and Ray jammed on the weekends before he went to the diner, and sometimes he helped Mikey out with stuff at Eyeball, when they needed another hand. He could do anything, and it didn't matter, because he got to do it as Frank, and that was worth everything.

He couldn't think of anything he'd rather do, anyway, then lie with Gerard on the floor of their house and listen to that box of mixtapes while Gerard doodled with a ballpoint pen over the skin of his wrists.

//

Seeing Frank get dressed up, or choose an outfit, anything - it just did things to Gerard. Always. He wasn't clinging to Joan - Joan was gone, Joan had never been, it'd been Frank the whole time. It was an every day thing for Frank, just about, just a part of who he was, but everytime he came out of the bedroom with red lines from the bra across the top of his ribcage Gerard had to bite his lip.

Sometimes they'd go out and he'd dress up, with full-on make-up and hair, shoes and everything. And the entire time they BOTH knew he was wearing silk panties under that dress and was all tucked away, but there WAS A DICK UNDER ALL THAT DRESS and they were both, like, close to popping wood THE ENTIRE NIGHT. And finally, they went back home (Frank had given up on the heels, so he was barefoot, with Gerard carrying his shoes for him) and Gerard undressed him, but made him stay in the panties (and bra!) and, like, just drove him CRAZY by running his fingers gently over the outline of Frank's cock under the silk and kissed him a LOT, but didn't let them do anything else, because he was too ~~~fascinated by Frank's silky boner. And Frank kept biting his lip and smearing his lipstick and his hair was all messed up and he was basically snapping for air at this point, he JUST WANTED GERARD TO BEND HIM OVER AND FUCK HIM, and when Gerard finally went for it, his just pushed the panties down, but didn't let Frank kick them off, and oh yeah, he made him wear the shoes again. >:)

He cleaned him up afterwards and even wiped the make-up off his sweaty face and brushed Frank's hair back and just watched him all *__________* because Frank was the only person he'd ever loved like that, like it was everything. It _was_ everything.

//

**Epilogue**

Gerard came awake slowly, groggily. He rolled on his stomach, pulling the pillow in closer to his chest, and exhaled. The room was too dark to tell the time but it felt late, the room too cold.

He pushed himself out of bed, adjusted his boxers, and slowly made his way towards the hall - he was going to head towards the kitchen, maybe start a pot of coffee, but the light slanting out from underneath the master bathroom door gave him pause. The door wasn't shut all the way so he pressed it quietly open, and rested his head on the door frame, smiling a little.

Frank was sitting on his lopsided piano bench in front of the counter, legs crossed up on the seat underneath him, red-painted toenails barely showing from under his thigh. He was in one of his oversized shirts, the wide boat-cut neckline barely keeping it on, and Gerard could see the strap of his bra (black, this time) running over his shoulder.

"I can see you, you know," Frank said, not turning around. He was rooting through his make-up bag on the counter for something, several items already carefully laid out on the counter beside him. "It's the whole point of mirrors."

Gerard didn't reply, just moved close and fitted himself onto the bench behind Frank, so Frank's cold toes touched the inside of his thighs. He pressed a kiss to the crook of Frank's neck. He smelled clean and Gerard bit down a little until he could feel Frank holding in a breath.

"You showered without me?" Gerard asked, kissing his shoulder. "That's no fun."

"You looked tired, I didn't want to wake you up. There's still time before dinner."

"Showering's no fun alone," Gerard mumbled, looking up into the mirror to catch Frank's reflection. His face was clean, a little shiny, like he'd just scrubbed it, and his long hair was pushed back off his face with his little black headband. Frank caught him looking and rolled his eyes a little, but he was smiling.

"You can't use that as an excuse anymore. Normal people have to shower by themselves all of the time. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Gerard moved to the other side of Frank's neck, kissing where the bra strap met skin. "You sure?"

"Yes," Frank said, and arched his neck slightly enough that Gerard could have better access to nip his way up to underneath his ear.

Gerard sighed, lips against Frank's warm skin. "Fine, fine. Can I watch you, first?"

Frank just nodded and shifted a little on the seat, and Gerard worked his hands up under the stretched out hem of Frank's shirt to rest lightly around his middle. Gerard couldn't help but run his fingers over the waistband of Frank's underwear, slipping a thumb under the seam right below his navel. They were soft, and cotton, but Gerard knew they weren't his usual pair.

"If you're going to distract me the whole time I will lock you out," Frank said, voice unamused but a little breathy.

"Mmm," Gerard said, and pushed a little bit closer so Frank was practically in his lap, and stilled with just a few fingers hovering under the waistband of Frank's panties, thumb just touching the top of where his coarse hair started. "I'll be good."

"I'm sure," Frank said. He paused with his hands spread out over the makeup scattered on the counter, like he was considering something, maybe choosing something different.

Getting to watch this part, getting to see Frank actually transform in front of him, always made Gerard feel a little off-balance, like watching something secret, special. Nobody else ever got to see Frank like this, in between. This was just for him. Gerard felt like if he exhaled too deeply, broke the silence, it would all disappear.

Frank leaned forward to brace his elbows on the counter and started with the eye makeup, using liquid eyeliner to lay down thick, deep lines that flared out at the ends, a little retro, like one of those girls from the movie they'd watched the other night. He smudged the harsher lines with black eyeshadow and a brush, working it down into his lash line. He had a light cream color he used to work up into his brow, and at the inside corners of his eyes.

Gerard just watched, fascinated, trying so hard not to move or to press harder against Frank's back, even though he knew that if he looked down he'd see where Frank's shirt had ridden up in the back enough to show his panties, the curve of his sides.

Frank wiped at the smudges of black under his eyes with one of his little makeup remover pads, leaving it in a stained heap by the corner of the sink. Foundation was next, and powder, and blush he rubbed in with a brush and his little finger. Gerard couldn't help but run his thumbs up and down a little on Frank's skin as he leaned forward to put on mascara, not even daring to exhale, just watching Frank's slightly open mouth in the mirror.

Frank met Gerard's eyes in the reflection and paused, shifting a little so he was stretched out more over the counter, ass closer to Gerard's crotch. His eyes were dark, beautiful through the black eyeshadow, and Gerard had to bite his own lip.

"What do you think?" Frank asked quietly. "Red?"

Gerard just nodded. Frank took the red lipstick out of the case and gently rolled the tube - he'd painted his fingernails red, too, the same as his toes, and for some reason Gerard hadn't even noticed until now - and started applying, pausing to press his lips together to spread the color.

Frank leaned back in Gerard's arms and turned his head to meet Gerard in a firm kiss, pulling away before Gerard could open his mouth to draw him deeper.

"There we go," Frank said, smiling. "Now I'm done."

Gerard glanced in the mirror and saw that his own lips were red, stained. "You know, it's unfair that you use me as blotting paper."

"But you're so _good_ at it," Frank said, smiling a little as he started putting the makeup back into the bag.

"Flatterer," Gerard said, squeezing Frank's side as he reached around him to grab at the stained makeup remover pad, leaving the red from his own lips next to the black of Frank's eyes.

//

The restaurant that night was a little old-fashioned, laced with carved wood and dark carpet, waiters with bowties hovering all along the shadows. Frank looked like he fit, there, with the flip of his hair and red lips, except for the tattoos that creeped out of the sleeves of his wide-neck dress.

A waiter appeared to refill Frank's wine glass with a quiet _ma'am_ before nodding and disappearing again into the kitchen. Frank took a long sip, leaving another thin layer of red on the rim of the glass, and made a little content noise. The low light of the candle on the table made him look soft, relaxed, and Gerard couldn't help but watch the way he held his fingers around the thin glass stem.

Gerard nudged the dessert plate across the table with his finger. "Come on. I can't. I'm done."

Frank sighed and took another sip, before moving the glass to the side. "I can't. I'm calling it. I surrendered."

Gerard frowned, mock-stern. "Never give up - "

"Never surrender, I know, you nerd." Frank said, sighing and running a finger through the chocolate sauce drizzled around the edge of the plate. He sucked it off quickly, and then pushed the plate back towards Gerard. "Done."

Gerard hesitated, distracted by the way Frank closed his eyes when he had his finger in his mouth. "You still up for the party after?" Gerard managed. He knew they had promised, but it was hard, sitting across from Frank like that, not getting to touch every part of him. Frank wasn't as restrained with his affections as he used to be, back when Gerard first met him again, as Joan, but there was still an underlying delicacy to how he moved, acted when they were out.

"Absolutely," Frank said, smiling widely. "Besides, I heard Mikey has new hair. That's a reason to party just by itself."

//

They stopped for cigarettes on the way - Gerard pressed close to Frank's back in the dirty corner store, not enough to touch, but enough to stop anyone who might have looked too long - and walked hand in hand down the way to the venue, only pausing for Gerard to relight Frank's extinguished cigarette with his cherry.

The wind was cold, too, decidedly slipping into winter, and Frank shivered a little and pulled his coat tighter. He ground his cigarette out under his heel and turned to move towards the entrance, the crowd of people pressing by the front doors, but Gerard tugged at him enough to pull him into the alley, just out of the slant of the streetlights.

"Hey," Gerard said quietly. He ran his hands a little under at the edge of Frank's short coat, where it ended at his hips. The dress was a new one, thick and well-made. From a department store, maybe, somewhere where he'd have gone in to try it on.

"Hey yourself," Frank said, looking up at him. His eyes were nothing but shadows in the dim light but his mouth was partially open, and Gerard could just see the barest hint of his breath in the cold.

Gerard pressed him back against the alley wall, kissing his neck, immediately shifting his arm to brace against the wall behind his head so Frank's hair didn't snag on the bricks. Frank gasped, tilting his head to the side, and Gerard sucked hard on the joint of his shoulder and neck, which he knew would make Frank shudder.

Frank moaned a little, arching under his touch, and Gerard ran his hand over Frank's waist - he could feel hard boning around his waist, which meant it was either the dress or something else holding his shape, curving his body, and Gerard had to use everything in his power not to press harder, to rut up against the crinoline.

Frank was panting, one hand fisted in the back of Gerard's jacket, the other around the back of his neck, fingernails digging into the skin. Gerard spread his palms as wide as he could around Frank's waist, feeling the shape, the resistance of the structure underneath the fabric.

He moved his head down to kiss his way across Frank's collarbone, the dip where his chest disappeared under the filled-out neckline, and then back up to kiss his jaw, beside his eye, anything to keep himself from kissing Frank's red, open mouth.

"Wait, wait," Frank said, pushing at him a little, breathy, and Gerard immediately drew back, giving him space. Frank had his eyes closed, breathing deeply, and his face was flushed, hair a little mussed. Gerard knew the signs, though - no farther, at least not yet, not when they didn't have the time to finish. Gerard was half-hard and he knew Frank was probably the same, maybe more. Gerard waited, watching as Frank pulled himself back, and gently moved his escaped strands of hair back into place.

Gerard pressed a kiss against Frank's temple. "You good?"

Frank still had his eyes closed, but nodded. "Yeah. I'm good."

Gerard waited until he opened his eyes and reached for Gerard's hand, smoothing down the front of his dress as they emerged back onto the sidewalk, back into the low light of the streetlights.

//

The party was for one of Eyeball's biggest bands, soon to be ex-bands, about to leave the label for bigger, greener pastures at one of the huge record labels in New York. It was a weird mix of kids from the scene and uncomfortable looking record executives, probably just in from the train from the city. The crowd was so thick it was almost impossible for Gerard to squeeze through to the bar and get drinks for him and Frank, and by the time he made it back, glasses raised high up overhead, Frank was tucked away in a back corner, talking to Mikey and one of Mikey's friends.

Gerard paused, instinctually on guard to parse the new person's reaction, if they were going to start something, but the girl had an wide, easy smile, and Frank was laughing. Gerard forced his shoulders down and shifted the last bit of the way through the crowd.

"Hey guys," he said, finally moving in to press against Frank's side and handing over the glass. "This place is nuts tonight, huh?"

"Yeah, for real. The band hasn't even started playing yet. You guys staying for the whole show?" Mikey asked, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. His hair looked like he'd been caught in a wind tunnel. An artistically-pomped wind tunnel.

"Oh, I don't know," Frank said, raising his glass to his lips. "We don't really have any other plans, so-" and Gerard wanted to groan, because he _knew_ , he knew Gerard wanted to do nothing more than drag him into a dark corner and start pulling at seams, and was teasing him on _purpose_.

"Where did you guys come from? You look...clean," Mikey said, blinking at him a little. "Did you shower?"

"You're so kind to me," Gerard said, sighing. "And yes. And uh, we went to Dauphine's before."

Mikey whistled a little, under his breath. "Fancy."

His friend smiled. She was very pretty, with dark hair and wide silver bracelets on each wrist. "Don't listen to him, he's just annoyed because now he knows he'll have to take me there too," she said, nudging Mikey a little with her hip.

Something clicked in Gerard's brain and he grinned. "That's what I'm here for. You must be Alicia."

Alicia smiled and stuck out a hand, bracelets loud even in the din of the room. "Absolutely. A pleasure. You have plenty of horrible stories about Mikey, I'm guessing?"

"Loads," Gerard said, shaking her hand vigorously. "Where should I start?"

"This is a disaster," Mikey said. "The worst."

"I'm incredibly entertained," Frank said. "Please elaborate."

" _Worst_ ," Mikey said, glaring at all of them.

//

The two opening bands were pretty terrible, but definitely tried to at least make as much noise as possible. The third, the headliner, had everyone in the room on their feet, huddling close and rocking back and forth in the pit. They had something. They were going to be huge.

Gerard and Frank stood slightly out of the pit, off to the side, with Gerard's back against one of the partitions separating the bar area from the showcase space. His hands rested lightly on Frank's lower back, rubbing circles through the thick fabric of his dress. He knew Frank wanted to be in the pit, wanted to be throwing himself around, but was holding himself back, fidgeting a little with repressed motion. He kept going up to the balls of his toes in his heels to see over the crowd and then wobbling when he came back down, and Gerard used his palms to keep him steady.

"Next time?" Gerard asked, leaning in close to speak in Frank's ear. Frank just kept watching the pit but nodded, transfixed.

A few more songs went by and the room got warmer, the cold air coming in from the swinging doors to the back not even managing to stifle the heat from the pit. The band kicked into the last leg of their set, throwing their mikes around, stomping loud, and Frank's skin felt almost like it was vibrating.

The room was so dark at that point that Gerard didn't hesitate in wrapping his arms around Frank's middle, lips in his hair. Instead of just letting him, though, Frank grabbed Gerard's arms and hung on, nails digging into his skin. He wasn't shoving him off, though, just grasping, and Gerard tightened his grip and pulled Frank back against him until they were flush. Frank's hair was damp from the sweat in the room, his hair curling at the base of his neck, and Gerard leant down to nip at the bit of exposed skin of his shoulder.

Frank took a step back until Gerard's back was shoved hard against the partition, and before he could even react Frank had slid his arms behind his own back, hands against Gerard's dick through the fabric of his pants, and Gerard gasped. The dark of the room was almost enough to cover them, and they were out of the way enough not to be in any direct eyeline, but there were hundreds of people in that room, thrumming, sweating, and Frank was working his hand over Gerard's dick and watching the pit.

He was hard almost immediately, swelling under Frank's hand, and it was all he could do to dig his fingers into Frank's waist and hold on, keep his hips from bucking.

"Fuck, Frank," he gasped, barely audible over the roar of the band, "fucking, Jesus-"

Frank pushed back harder, his hands pinned between their warm bodies, working his way over Gerard's crotch, not even turning to show he'd heard, still watching the band and pit thrash and ebb around the room.

Gerard moaned again and hid his face from the crowd in Frank's hair, pressed his lips against the shell of his ear. "I am going to fuck you so hard," Gerard gasped, "that you won't be able to walk for a _week_ , high heels or not, I swear to fucking _God_."

Frank still didn't turn, but his hand stilled, just for a moment, and then started working even faster, and Gerard didn't miss the way his whole body was rocking back into Gerard's hips. He wanted to move his hands down, see if he could feel Frank's cock through the folds of his dress, but he couldn't move, couldn't do anything but hold on. Frank's hair slid against his lips, and Gerard leaned in just a little closer. If Frank was going to torture him like this all night, he was going to make it harder.

"Want me to fuck you, Frankie?" he breathed, and gasped when Frank's fingers tightened around his dick. "Yeah, gonna rip you out of this dress and bend you over," he whispered, close enough that he knew Frank could hear him over the thrashing of the band and the surging of the crowd just a few feet away from them. The dark concealed them both, all of it - Frank's hand moving over his crotch, Gerard's flaming face, both from how good it all felt, and the words dripping from his mouth. He couldn't stop, though; he wanted to make Frank just as crazy as he felt, just as fucking needy.

"I'll get you wet with my mouth first, you know? Lick you up and down, hold you down for it, _fuck_." His throat closed up on the next stroke. Frank was surging at him, now, still pretending to be watching the crowd, but Gerard knew he was no longer vying for his attention; he had him. He brought a trembling hand up to Frank's hair and slid his fingers through it, tugged on it. His dick was so hard, he thought he'd explode the next second, like a fucking kid. "Love fucking you, Frankie, love getting you crazy and stupid with it," he said, his lips mouthing the words directly over Frank's skin, like the sound alone wouldn't carry them. "Love you," he breathed, and the next second the air shifted and suddenly Frank's face was right in front of his, and then they were kissing, hard and sloppy and tasting like sweat - theirs, each other's, everybody else's. Gerard moaned and grabbed Frank, pressing him even closer, finally feeling the nudge of Frank's hard-on through the layers of his dress.

_Fuck._

When Frank broke off, Gerard saw that his cheeks were darker than even his foundation could conceal, he was burning up against him. "Let's get the fuck out of here," Frank rasped, and grabbed Gerard's hand. Gerard was only too happy to comply, and on wobbly feet, they wove their way through the swaying, moshing crowd outside, fresh cold air hitting them on all sides.

They managed to grab a cab about a block away from the club, thanks to the magic of Frank's legs in stockings. Gerard barely had a chance to spit out their address before Frank climbed onto his lap and pinned him back into the seat with the force of his kiss.

" _Fuck_ ," he panted when Frank broke off, and maybe tried to say something like _perhaps Mr. Dobrovenko does not appreciate PDAs in his cab_ or _you're gonna make me come before we even get the fuck out of this car_ , but then he slid his hands up along Frank's hips and realized, as the material shifted and slid under his touch, that the boning around Frank's ribs wasn't part of the dress – Frank was wearing his fucking corset.

"Oh, _shit_ , Frankie," he panted against Frank's cheek, feeling the slightest touch of his stubble rasping against his own, "you're fucking killing me."

He felt, more than heard, Frank's quick in-take of a laugh, and slid his hands down, down until he could almost slip them under Frank's dress, feel what _else_ he was wearing underneath it. Frank hadn't let him into their bedroom until he had gotten completely dressed earlier in the night, and Gerard felt himself straining forward now, trying to almost see through the goddamn dress, until Frank grabbed both his hands and pinned them to the seat.

"No touching," he whispered, the sound traveling all the way to Gerard's dick. "But you could tell me more about your plans, if you wanted to," he added and kissed where Gerard's shoulder met his neck, the spot that drove him craziest, and Frank knew it, the fucker.

"Yeah?" he asked, after Frank's tongue made all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He clenched his fingers into fists, knuckles digging into the cracked leather of the seat, and swallowed. "Gonna fuck you so hard, you won't be able to get out of bed in the morning, basically," he said, trying to keep his voice low and at least not let Anatoly up at the wheel there in on his plans for his boyfriend in the dress. "Gonna strip you out of this thing, and, I don't know, I _might_ let you get out of your panties…" Frank bit the skin just behind Gerard's ear, then hummed against his sensitized skin.

"Or?.."

"Or I could just slide them out of the way and fuck you like that, you know? Just push ‘em aside." Frank ground against him, not even bothering to answer, but Gerard knew. "That would - _fuck_ \- that would drive you crazy. Bet you're wearing silk ones right now, aren't you? The silk would rub up against your ass and your dick and your balls and I'd fuck you so hard, you'd come all over them, I wouldn't – I wouldn't even have to –"

"That'll be ten bucks, folks!"

The sudden stop of all movement and the throw-back of the car stopping made Gerard's head swim, and then Frank was practically leaping out of his lap and thrusting a twenty at the driver. He didn't even bother to get change back from him, just grabbed his jacket and Gerard's hand and together, they fell out of the cab just outside their door.

"Fuck you, Gerard," Frank panted, tugging Gerard up until their chests touched. "Fuck you so hard."

Gerard didn't even bother answering, just grabbed Frank's head and kissed him, all tongue and  
breath, trying to communicate everything that was happening in his mind directly to Frank's. When he broke off, he found himself frozen in place, watching the way Frank's eyes looked in the streetlight, black-rimmed and so bright, they were almost yellow, feral somehow. He was fucking gorgeous. It always, _always_ caught Gerard by surprise just how fucking beautiful he was; had always been.

"Frankie," he panted and touched their foreheads together. "Fucking – can we just get upstairs? Just let me –"

"Shit, you're the one who's still standing here," Frank said and pushed Gerard away enough to turn and make a bee-line for the door. "If we're not upstairs fucking in two minutes, I'm breaking up with you," Frank threw over his shoulder, and Gerard knew an empty threat when he heard one, but he still hurried up until he was up against Frank's ass and all but shoving him through the door and up the stairs.

Frank could barely get the key in the lock, and Gerard would have been feeling kind of vindicated and smug if he wasn't burning up inside his clothes, his dick hard enough to pound nails with.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Frank chanted, and then finally the lock clicked home and Gerard barreled them both through the doorway.

He slammed the door shut behind them and grabbed Frank, pinning him up against the wall. "Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie," he panted, then buried his face in the crook of Frank's neck, still faint with perfume, but with the sweat of the night obscuring it. "God, fucking want you so much," he mumbled and bit down. Frank shuddered against him, and he did it again, fisted a hand through Frank's hair and tugged, hard enough to make Frank shudder again.

"Gee, are you gonna fuck me, or - _ah_ \- do I have to do it myself?" Frank's voice was just this side of a whine – needy and hoarse.

Gerard ground his dick against Frank's belly and spun them both around enough to walk out of the hallway, then stagger through the living room and into the bedroom, whispering assurances of a good fuck to come into Frank's ear the entire time.

Frank's fingers were digging into his sides, but Gerard barely even noticed, his own hands busy with the feel of Frank's corset beneath the dress. He spun Frank around as soon as the bed was in view and finally got his hands on the zipper, fumbling only a little beneath the wide collar. The wool of the dress fell slowly away from Frank's shoulders, revealing the black lace bra Gerard had _known_ Frank was wearing, because it was their favorite. He barely waited for the dress to reveal the rest of what was covering Frank under the dress before grabbing him tighter around the waist and kissing his smooth shoulder, the soft skin where his neck curved into his back.

He was so turned on, he could barely see.

"Gee –"

Gerard squeezed him tighter, then let go, stepping back enough to tug the dress all the way down, leaving Frank in the crinoline skirt, barely see-through, but transparent enough to show Gerard that the corset Frank wore was attached to thigh-highs.

Gerard dropped to his knees. "Jesus –" He tugged the skirt down until it pooled around Frank's high-heeled feet, then it was no longer in the picture at all, and when he raked his gaze over Frank, he saw his black-stockinged legs, his thighs soft and exposed at the top, black silk panties straining against Frank's hard-on, and the corset – Frank's very first one, the one he took such care of, washing it in the sink with expensive powder, then drying it carefully on the rack. Somewhere along the way, Frank had lost the bra, and now he stood in front of Gerard, soft and fucking wanton, hot as hell.

It wasn't until Frank reached down and gently tipped Gerard's chin up with his finger, that Gerard even realized he'd frozen in the spot, staring up at him like an idiot. "Didn't you have a plan, Gee?" Frank asked, his mouth tilted in a teasing smile.

Gerard bit his lip and grinned back. "Yeah. I had a whole fucking plan."

He tucked his fingers under Frank's panties and slid them down, his mouth watering at the sight of Frank's dick bobbing into view – hard and dark and –

Gerard's plans were pretty fluid when it came to Frank, so he didn't mind getting derailed by a little cock-sucking, Frank gasping up above him as he sucked the head in, then pulled off and licked it all over like a lolly-pop, catching Frank's gaze.

" _Fuck_ ," Frank panted and grabbed Gerard's head in a tight grip.

Gerard grinned and let Frank's dick fill his mouth and stretch his jaw before forcefully pulling away.

"What the –"

"That wasn't actually the plan," he explained and tugged Frank's underwear all the way down his legs. Frank smacked him lightly on the head, but Gerard kind of deserved that. "Here, step – "

Gerard tugged until Frank lifted first one foot, then the other, and let Gerard throw his panties off to the side.

"The plan was actually to fuck you, remember?" Gerard whispered once he heaved himself up and spun Frank around, his own hard-on pressing up against Frank's ass.

"You're – oh, fuck – prone to changing your mind," Frank gasped and ground back into Gerard, forcing a moan out of him. Gerard saw stars.

"Jesus Christ, Frankie." He mouthed at Frank's neck, Frank's hair getting caught in the kiss, then pushed him down until Frank bounced on the covers, ass up. "Really gonna fuck you now," he announced.

Frank threw him a dirty grin over his shoulder and wiggled his ass. "You keep saying that, but you're still wearing pants."

Gerard silently reached for his fly and popped the first button. Frank bit his lip and watched over his shoulder as Gerard slid the zipper down and shoved his pants and underwear down to his knees.

"Take them off all the way," Frank whispered, his smirk disappearing, eyes on Gerard's dick.

Gerard obeyed him just as silently, not actually able to say no to Frank like this, or maybe ever.

"Take off your shirt, too," Frank commanded in the same quiet voice. "Wanna see you."

Gerard's shirt came off the next second. Something in the air between them shifted, changed, and just as wordlessly, he walked around to his bedside table and got the condoms and lube. Usually Frank liked to help with this part, his quick fingers all over Gerard's dick, rolling the condom down, slicking him up, but this time, Gerard felt like doing it himself, saving the best for Frank, instead.

Not that Frank's gaze didn't follow his every movement, eyes obscured by bangs, but no less intent for it; Gerard watched him back as he stroked himself, maybe indulging more than he should have been. Then he urged Frank further up the bed, sliding up behind him, hands all over Frank's thighs and ass and, finally, dipping in. Frank gasped and squirmed, shoving himself back onto Gerard's fingers, so hot and fucking slick.

"Yeah, oh – _fuck,_ " he panted. "Mmm."

His ass was fucking perfect from this view, and Gerard was on sensory overload, from the tight hot feel of Frank's ass around his moving fingers to the way he looked, cinched waist, full in the hips, his strong legs spread, his patent leather heels catching the dim light of the lamp.

"Fuck, _fuck_ , Gee, fuck me already," Frank moaned after a while of fucking himself on Gerard's fingers, and Gerard could only nod, blowing hair out of his face, sweat prickling his face.

When he lined himself up and finally slid home, they both fucking groaned; this never got any less amazing, _ever_. Gerard slid out and shoved back in, eyes squeezing shut despite himself, dick throbbing. _Jesus_ , fucking _Christ_ , this felt good. He forced himself to open his eyes again and really take in how Frank looked, getting fucked like that, so goddamn _pretty_ , writhing on their sheets in his corset, laces allowing tiny peeks of Frank's skin underneath, ass clenching every time Gerard thrust deeper inside.

Gerard wanted _more_ , he wanted _all of him_ , and he pushed Frank down until only his ass was off the bed, and scrambled to unclasp the fastenings to Frank's stockings. He reached for the ties next, sliding the long end until it gave, and Frank gasped as the first criss-cross was undone. Gerard bit his lip and tugged at the fastenings, undoing the next criss-cross, and the next, until Frank's body slowly gave way, his boy-shape overtaking the girl, shifting until the entire corset fell away and Gerard bent down, plastering himself up against Frank's naked, lined back and fucked him so hard, their knees gave way.

They fell onto the bed, and Gerard couldn't let go of Frank's waist long enough to give him breath, just fucked him, over and over, his voice breaking over the shouts he couldn't control. He came so hard, he thought he'd break apart with it, shaking. Frank's hands were fisting the sheets, his breath coming short and almost panicked. Gerard could feel where his back muscles clenched, tight with need.

He pulled out and slipped the condom off, throwing it somewhere off the bed. Then he rolled Frank onto his side and jacked him off, wrapped around him, whispering things like, "You're so fucking beautiful like this," and "want you to come for me, come all over me," and then nothing but Frank's name, like he'd forgotten all over words.

Frank came with a wordless cry, spilling all over the sheets and Gerard's hand. Gerard didn't think he breathed at all.

They lay there quietly for a moment, Frank's ass slick with sweat against Gerard's hip. The room was dark except for the slice of light coming from underneath the bathroom door, but when Gerard turned to look he could still see the flush on Frank's chest, the dip of sweat on his collarbone.

"I don't know what I love more," Frank said, eyes still closed. "That dress, or how much _you_ love that dress."

"Or getting you _out_ of that dress," Gerard said, turning on his side to roll closer.

Frank just grinned and stretched out, hands pressing above him into the pillows. "Mmm, yeah." When he was done stretching, the wiggled down then sat up, the blankets tenting around his shoulders. "It's time for me to turn into a pumpkin, though," he mumbled and started struggling with the thigh highs still wrapping his legs. Gerard watched, mesmerized, for a minute, then sat up, too.

"Here, let me -" He pushed Frank back into the bed and lifted one of Frank's legs in the air, carefully sliding the stocking down and off. Frank groaned, burying his face sideways in a pillow.

"Ugh, how is that _so_ fucking good," he moaned, grinning happily. Gerard grinned back, setting Frank's leg down and lifting the other on over his shoulder. He loved helping Frank with this part, even if he couldn't help him put them on. He slid the second stocking off slowly, almost like a tease, and watched as Frank shivered and giggled. "Thanks, baby," he crowed, then looked up at Gerard in alarm. "Just don't throw them on the floor, I'll murder you if I get a run."

Gerard just rolled his eyes and carefully set both stockings on Frank's bedside table, away from any sharp objects. "Calm down, princess."

"Fuck you," Frank replied calmly and settled back down.Gerard joined him, then slipped a hand over his waist and turned Frank around until he was resting with his face against Gerard's chest, their hands linked together.

"We're a mess," he observed when he felt Frank's dick smearing a bit of come against his hip.

Frank giggled into his chest and pressed closer. "An awesome mess," he said and gave Gerard's nipple a tiny kiss. Gerard shivered, a tiny ripple going through his body, like an aftershock. "That was fucking awesome."

Gerard grinned up at the ceiling, spreading his fingers out to feel more of Frank's skin. " _Yeah_ , it fucking was. Even though you're a horrible tease."

Frank struggled a bit in his grip and lifted himself up enough to look Gerard in the eye. "You love it when I'm a tease," he said, his face almost hurt, but Gerard knew that face.

"Uh-huh," he shrugged, then, getting tired of the game, gripped Frank's waist and heaved him up to lie on top, sweaty stomachs touching, their toes lined up. "I do," he whispered, kissing the tip of Frank's nose, then sliding his mouth over to his cheek, kissing the soft skin just under his eye. His hands wandered idly over Frank's ass and back, and Frank wriggled against him, face still turned up for his kisses.

"I know you do," Frank whispered. "I love you," he added, burying his face against Gerard's neck, and Gerard wrapped his arms all around him, getting that ridiculous swell in his chest that he got every time they could be like this, quiet and sated and themselves. No barriers, no secrets.

"Love you, too," he breathed into Frank's hair. It felt nice and a little scratchy against his stubble. "So fucking much," he added, feeling sappy and ridiculous. But he still had moments when he couldn't quite believe it. Frank has been free to be Frank for over a year, now, and it never got ordinary, having him here, in their house, in this bed.

"And it's still the weekend," Frank noted, which meant more to Frank than to Gerard, it was true, but it also meant that they could sleep in together, then get up and brew a pot of coffee and spend their morning doing whatever the fuck they wanted to, because there was nothing pressing to be done. They might run the dishwasher, maybe wash the sheets. Maybe. If they wanted to...

"We could fuck again in the morning," Gerard observed, starting to drift off, the adrenaline from earlier turning to exhaustion in his bones. "You could wake up with your dick in my mouth," he mumbled, rolling them over to lie side by side, settling into the covers.

"There is no chance you'll be awake before me," he heard Frank say, then he felt a kiss on his lips. "But you might just get lucky."

Gerard smiled, his eyes already closed, mind in a blissful land of timeless thought, and murmured, "I already have."


End file.
